


Stressed Out

by Rossellini



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: At least one pro is autistic, Autistic Character, Autistic meltdowns, Autistic!Reader, Dardoch isn't a complete ass in this one, F/M, Flame is precious, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Piglet just wants to be loved, Reader is chronically ill, Reader isn't straight, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sneaky is a big soft, So is mr. yensen, Some of the pros are gay, Stimming, TSM, Team Solomid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rossellini/pseuds/Rossellini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have millions of people around the world who adore Bjergsen. But at the end of the day, is there anyone around to care for Søren?"</p><p>Bjergsen seeks gambling odds from a bookie, and wins her instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Ocean Cold and Dark, I am the Hungry Shark

It was 8:09 pm when you moseyed on down to the bar in one of Mandalay Bay's clubs. It had been a long 5 hours watching Immortals go 3-1 against Liquid to take 3rd place, you were surprised it had taken that long, but then again, you were shocked that they had lost to TSM at all. Pleasantly shocked, of course, you and your sister were ardent TSM fans. You had a poster of John Cena on the wall with Lustboy's head photoshopped on him, Bjergsen was your sister's computer background, and you had carefully rescued Doublelift's picture from your CLG trashcan, before replacing it with Stixxay's acne-ridden mug. Pobelter was transferred to your newly inaugurated Immortals recycle bin (the joke being that they were a team of recycled players). You were staunch that you would maintain "a TSM household."

Right now though, you looked nothing like a fan. You had cleaned up, were sipping on a Stella, and texting your buddy who worked with the trainer of the racehorse you were about to place a bet on. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd snag you a ride with his Derby prospect, since you had only just proven yourself as a capable exercise rider. You were really hoping that your tiny stature would land you jockey offers from some of the lesser known trainers, but that was a longer shot.

It was about 10 minutes to post time when a crew of young men sidled up to the bar, boisterously shouting over each other to get the bartender's attention. You looked over as one of them asked for a Heineken, but was immediately jeered down by the people with him.

"RIP, Bjerg!" one hollered.

"GG, too young!" another called out.

Wait a minute, _Bjerg?!_ You narrowed your eyes, and, sure enough, the beanpole getting shoved around by his crew was, in fact, the infamous Bjergsen. You'd met him once before at the Summer Split finals last year, posed for a photo with him (and he was a lot taller than you expected), and high-fived him in line. His hand had been so soft.

He turned his head in your direction, and you immediately put your gaze back on the TV to watch the racehorses get paraded around before the race. You didn't want the members of TSM to feel bothered by fans, since they have to deal with it enough. Bjergsen, especially, ever since he's developed from an acne-ridden teenager into a towering, deep-voiced, prince of a man.

But now was not the time to think about that. You took a swig of your beer, and pushed the thought out of your mind as the bartender took drink orders from the of-age members of TSM. The stats of the first horse had just appeared on the screen when, in your peripheral vision, you noticed a man stand uncomfortably close to your seat and crane his neck at the television, squinting his bespectacled eyes. He had thick rims, just like Bjergsen wore.

Because they were Bjergsen's glasses. On Bjergsen's nose. The guy standing next you was Bjergsen. _Holy shit!_

He looked incredibly perplexed, and then he noticed you were looking at him, and looked at you. Your eyes met. _Whoops._

"Excuse me, miss?" he inquired. Oh sweet baby Jesus did nothing ever sound so wonderful. "My boss asked me to look at the odds for a horse, but I don't understand what the fuck I'm looking at." You suppressed a grin, and the angel chorus singing in your head. _He didn't know you were a fan!_ Now was your chance!

"Oh, it's alright!" you replied. Was that too excited? "Which horse was he asking about?"

Bjergsen looked skyward in thought. "Uhhhhh...something-something-Oh-man?" he said, incredibly unsure.

Your eyes lit up in recognition "Mohaymen!" you answered.

"Oh, yeah! Right!" Bjergsen excitedly confirmed. Luckily for you, you had ridden the horse. And you thought he was a real nutcase. Too flighty, and awkward coming down on his left fore.

"That horse is a real piece of shit. Don't tell me your boss is seriously considering betting on him?" you groaned. Bjerg looked at you awkwardly and nodded. You rolled your eyes as the horse appeared on the screen. "Look at him. He's walking funny, you see? Watch how his left front foot comes down a lot faster than the others." Bjergsen pursed his perfect lips and squinted at the TV, nodding slightly in some understanding.

The camera then panned to your favorite for the race. Riding that horse was a dream, your buddy had arranged it with his boss just for you, and the colt galloped smooth as steel, confident, yet yielding to you. Your favorite part was that he was gray, and not the ugly, off-white gray; the nice, dark, gun flint gray, complete with a shiny coat.

"Now here's the one I'm betting on." you explained to the young man. "Doesn't that horse just look so much better to you? The movement perfectly in harmony?"

The tall boy adorably chewed on his lip in confusion. "I guess so, I don't know that much about horses, but damn, that one moves smooth. I wish my frame-rate was that clean." he snickered, and you put on your best poker face, you sure as shit didn't want to blow your cover now. Luckily for you, he fell for it, his face flushing red. "Oh, right, sorry, inside joke..." he trailed off. You pulled out a bar napkin and a pen (after working in a restaurant, you got anxiety from being without one) and started to write your picks.

"If your boss is looking to actually win anything, tell him to put a $12 win-place-show on Dearmariacountmein, a $4 win-show on Nyquist, and a $4 place-show on Mind Over Matter."

Bjergsen took the napkin from you and quirked an eyebrow, which just about killed you. "And if he asks why?"

You giggled. "You go on and tell him the Daenerys Targaryen effect is the most important rule of betting, of course!

"Oh, because she's got a gray horse?" he yelled excitedly, understanding the reference. Oh fuck yes, he was a Game of Thrones fan too!

"Exactly!" you affirmed.

Bjergsen chuckled and took a few steps backward. "Hey, thanks for your help, I'll tell my boss what you said." With that, he waved and turned towards his team, but then immediately spun on his heel and hastily shuffled back over to you. "Oh shit, I'm so rude, I didn't introduce myself!" He blushed, looking at the floor.

You laughed "It's alright, bro. I'm (You)."

"(You)?" he smiled and took your hand. You swore if this was a dream you would end it if you ever woke up. "My name is Søren." he introduced, the lilt in his voice when he said his name being all that remained of his Danish accent. His hand was still so soft.

"Søren? Where are you from? I can tell you're not from America." you inquired. You knew the answer, but he didn't need to know that.

"I'm from Denmark. I'm surprised you caught that, I thought my accent was gone." You looked at your feet. But first, you pointed out subtly that he was still holding your hand (not that you minded at all). "Oh my God, sorry!" He quickly dropped your hand as if burned. "Well, it was lovely to meet you, (You)."

Then, with a final smile, he turned and walked back towards his team. You put your hand to your cheek, happy to know that while the world knows him as Bjergsen, you were one of the lucky few in this world who got to meet Søren.


	2. It's Etiquette, You Idiot. Spend Time Behind the Line.

You still had that stupid grin on your face when you heard footsteps and voices coming your way not even 2 minutes after Søren left. He'd come back with Reginald in tow, trying to convince him your picks were better,

"I'm telling you!" Søren urged his boss, "She might be right, she sounds like she knows her shit." Damn right you know your shit.

Reginald looked at the bar napkin you'd given the Danish boy, then at the television, and then at you. "Where do you get your intel from?"

"I work for a trainer, and I usually end up handicapping for people that ask." You explain. "I made $75 last week."

Reginald narrowed his eyes. "I had a trifecta on 2-4-7, and my guy's pretty good. You know Sean Bean, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "Sean Bean is full of shit, and every man, woman, and child in the racing industry knows it. Anyone with at least three functioning brain cells knows that trifectas never pay out. Didn't anyone ever tell you that slow and steady betting wins you the race?"

The TSM owner looked at Søren, who shrugged. Reginald shrugged in return. "Fair enough." You turned towards the TV, where the horses had loaded into the starting gate. The race started, and Søren seemed transfixed by what he was seeing. The horse Reginald had originally picked was out in front. "See?" He pointed a thumb at the screen. "Mohaymen's a good bet."

You rolled your eyes again, because _Holy Shit_ he had no idea. "The only horses who are in front early that actually stay in front are Triple Crown material, which is almost never the case. Look, he made a quarter mile in 22 seconds, the jockey's letting that horse burn out." Reginald seemed to consider this, silently. Søren had balled his hands into fists like an excitable child as the horses came around the final turn. Sweet baby Jesus he was precious. You grinned, and directed their attention to the TV. "Here, you'll see what I mean in a second."

"I'm not sure, Mohaymen is still ahead by a length."

You tutted. "Here comes Dearmariacountmein, he's closing Mohaymen out!" And just as you said that, Reginald's pick ran out of steam, and the gray colt passed Mohaymen on the right, pulling away for the finish, along with three other contenders. Reginald's jaw hit the floor, and Søren jumped up and down giddily as Dearmariacountmein crossed the finish line.

"You were right!" He exclaimed, going in for the high-five. You slapped his hand, and he grabbed hold of your tiny hand in his huge one, shaking it exaggeratedly for a few seconds before dropping it.

Reginald turned towards you with a neutral expression. He paused briefly, before tipping his chin at you. "You're good at this, kid. Thanks for the pick." He nodded at you in respect, and walked away towards the rest of TSM, hailing the bartender for another round on him and his new winnings.

You and Søren made eye contact, and he smiled reassuringly. "I think he likes you." He speculated.

You snorted. "It's nothing. I'm just a restaurant hostess who does picks for the customers. It brings in business."

"Where do you work?" Søren asked as he took a seat next to you. Why hasn't he run away yet? That's what everyone else does...

"I work at a high end Japanese restaurant in Baltimore. Because we're near the track, we get a lot of racing industry traffic." You explained. Of course, that was only your day job, but you didn't want to give out all your secrets.

The tall boy considered this for a moment. "Do you like it?" He asked.

"It's a lot of fun, actually. It's not as difficult as being a waitress, I have a great staff to work with, and I bring home a nice chunk of change. Oh, and I get a hella discount on the food, which is _muy delicioso."_ You chuckled. The Danish boy snickered along with you. You noticed how he hadn't broken eye contact with you. "So, you never mentioned what you do for a living." You elbowed Søren gently. Obviously, you knew the answer full well, but it was an easy way to hide your fangirl feelings.

Søren looked at the floor. "It's kinda hard to explain to people, we get laughed at a lot."

You smiled as reassuringly as you could. "Oh, come on, you can tell me, I promise I won't laugh at you." Which was true, since you played the exact same game in your free time.

Søren took a deep breath. "I play video games competitively. It's called eSports."

You slammed your drink on the bar exaggeratedly. "Get the fuck out, that's your job? That sounds like the coolest job in the world!"

Søren smiled in relief. "Yeah, it is. I'm just glad you haven't walked away."

_I'm glad you haven't walked away, either._ "I mean, if I could play RuneScape and get paid, I would."

The Dane's eyes widened. "You play RuneScape?! I didn't know people still play that shit!"

Nice burn, asshole. "Shut up, you asshat." You blushed, and stared into your drink. "I'm level 77, it's taken me years to get there."

Søren smirked at you. "Well, I play League of Legends, a game that takes actual skill." He triumphantly proclaimed.

You put on your best perplexed expression. "I haven't played that yet, my sister plays StarCraft though, are they the same?" That was a big, fat lie, you were a Bronze 2 Ahri main. Because of him.

Søren nodded. "Well, they are the same style of gameplay, where you're playing in real time, but it's more like World of Warcraft, which I guess is kinda like RuneScape."

You nodded in pretend understanding. "So, where does the money come in?" You asked.

"We have teams, kinda like a soccer league. We play each other, and companies sponsor us, so we get most of our money that way."

"Sounds like a sweet deal!" You said.

Søren relaxed into his seat. "Yep. Thanks for not making fun of me, by the way."

"Why would I do that?" You asked, seriously this time.

"Because people don't think it's a real job that takes real skill. I think it's because it's so new to people."

"Well, people seem to think NASCAR is a sport, so I'm pretty sure it's no stretch to get you on ESPN." You assured.

The handsome boy grinned at your compliment, and you couldn't help but grin back at him. He started leaning towards you, and you felt yourself gravitate closer to him. It would be cool if someone could pinch you right about now. He was about to open his mouth when Reginald came strutting back over excitedly.

"I just made 45 fucking dollars off that race!" He exclaimed. "You're a real shark!"

"Thanks, but I'm not that good." You tried to remain somewhere between confident and humble.

Søren suddenly narrowed his eyes at you. He put his fingers to his lips for a moment and said "Now that I think about it, you look familiar."

Oh shit.


	3. My Name's Blurryface and I Care What You Think

They're not supposed to be able to remember their fans. Not with the sheer amount of thirsty girls (and a fair helping of boys) tweeting at him every second of his life. Heck, you'd only met him for a fleeting moment to take a picture with him, and he's taken thousands! You were really hoping that he hadn't just seen your eyes pop out of your skull as you hemmed and hawed for an explanation. You turned to Reginald, hoping that he'd somehow be able to remind Søren of the facts, but he was scrutinizing you too, just like you were another racehorse.

Wait a second, racehorses!

"I was on TV when I went to one of the American Pharoah races." You explained. True, you were there, but you probably weren't on TV, you figured that Reginald would have had it on, and Søren would have maybe walked by at the right time. Hopefully, they'd fall for it. Thinking quickly, you pulled our phone out of your purse and flipped through your photos. "See, here they are crossing the finish line." You said as you showed Reginald and Søren the video you took from the railing. Reginald turned to you, impressed. "And you were right at the rail!" He exclaimed. "How in the hell did you get that spot?"

You gave a shit-eating grin. "I've been to pop-punk shows, a passive crowd is easy to push through."

The music coming over the speakers in the bar switched to "Stressed Out", which was a favorite of yours. You'd always think about Bjergsen when it came on the radio. He was a lanky, brand-new man bearing almost the entire LCS on his bony shoulders, and he was still so young, younger than you, even. You started absentmindedly staring at him, his gorgeous eyes framed by his dark-rimmed glasses, and he was staring right back at you, face at ease for once in his life.

You were interrupted by Reginald tapping you on the shoulder, handing you your phone back. "You look like you're better at this than my old guy. My name's Andy, and I'd love to get my picks from you, if you don't mind." He extended his hand, which you firmly shook.

"(You)", you replied.

"What's the best way to contact you?" Andy asked.

You pulled out a business card from the restaurant where you worked. "Here's where I work." You explained as you wrote your personal number on the back. "And here's me." You handed Andy the card with a smile. The bartender came over with another Stella, and a club soda for Søren.

"They're on me." Andy explained, nodding at you as he walked away. TSM had started drunkenly singing/shouting along to the chorus of the song. Søren quietly sniggered, looking at you. He raised his glass (and his eyebrows, oh dear God that killed you), and you responded with a quiet "cheers", clinking your glasses and sipping your drinks. Søren couldn't seem to stop staring at you. You gave him an incredulous look.

"What?" You confronted him.

Søren snorted and blushed. "So, what's the deal with chicks and horses?"

You gave your best "triggered" face. "Wow, I'm offended now!" But the Dane had started waving his hands and apologizing awkwardly, so you put your hand on his shoulder to assure him that you were joking. "You know men ride horses too, right?" You asked.

"But doesn't it- uhhhhh, crush things that, um, you know, shouldn't be crushed?" He timidly inquired. And that did it. You laughed so hard you had to grab your chair so you didn't fall out. "It's a serious question!" Søren whined. You didn't stop laughing until you were coughing from the force. Søren reached out to pat you on the back a few times, and rub it until your coughing ceased. You leaned into the contact as you grabbed your drink for a sip. Søren slapped your hand away. "Don't, you're gonna choke on it, you goof." He tittered. "You didn't answer my question."

You huffed. "No, in racing you're standing up anyway. Otherwise, if you're sitting on your nuts, you're sitting wrong. Don't you think the knights thought of that?"

Søren seemed to accept that. "Okay, but why is it always chicks?"

"Depends on what you're doing, in racing it's usually men, in the jumping shows it's usually women, and in Western riding it's pretty even. Except barrel racing- those professional leagues are women only."

"But isn't it dangerous?" Søren asked, genuinely concerned.

You shrugged. "It can be for sure. But it's the only sport where you don't have to talk to your teammate, and your teammate doesn't care who you are as a person, or who you slept with, or whatnot. It's worth it."

Søren nodded tepidly. "You're a very interesting young lady, (You)." You grinned cheekily. The team was boisterously roughhousing at the end of the bar, you saw Svenskeren and Hauntzer shoving at each other while Doublelift egged them on.

"Is that your team?" You asked the boy next to you.

Søren sipped his soda. "Oh, those fools over there?" He gestured vaguely in their direction. "That would be them."

"You're an ass, Bje- Søren." You gasped as you play-shoved him, hoping he didn't catch your slip.

"Damn right I've got the best ass in the LCS." He husked with a wink.

Boom. Headshot. Your face flushed crimson. "Okay, now you're being gross." The boy paled, about to apologize again for offending you, but you put your hand on his shoulder. "I'm kidding." He exhaled in relief, and you were touched that he seemed to genuinely take interest in a lowly commoner.

"You had me scared for a minute there."

"You didn't tell me about your team."

Søren's eyes lit up. "They're all great. They're some of the most talented people in eSports, and I'm really lucky to be spending almost 24 hours a day learning from them. It's awesome knowing that these are the people that have my back."

"Shut up, you live with them?"

"Yep." Søren affirmed, popping his lips at the end of the word.

"But how do you not go insane from being constantly surrounded by people?" You asked, genuinely.

He paused, racking his brain for an answer. "You need to be really close to function as a team. But it helps that I'm the only one with my own room. I'm kind of a big deal." Søren finished with a grin.

You scoffed. "See? An ass. I rest my case"

The boy shrugged. "What can you do?"

You had an idea. "Show you up, of course." You stood up and grabbed his hand. Søren startled as you jerked him to his feet, shaky, like a scarecrow in the wind.

"Jesus, what the fuck?"

"You and I-" You waved your hand in between the two of you. "-are going to dance."

Søren gulped.


	4. The Lace in Your Dress Tingles My Neck, How Do I Live?

At any given time on camera, Søren looked a lot of things. Proud. Stern. Cocky. Celebratory. There was one thing that he would never look like in the eyes of the general public, which he did right now. Absolutely fucking scared shitless.

"Right _now?_ " He squeaked. You didn't know a 20 year old man could squeak.

"Yep." You popped your lips to mimic him.

"But I can't dance!" Søren whined.

You rolled your eyes for the millionth time this evening. "Yes you can, big boy. Everyone can."

"But they're watching me!" He cried petulantly.

"Let them." You murmured. The song changed to Death of a Bachelor. "Ah, how perfect! It's a sign from the heavens!" You declared, moving one of his arms around your delicate waist, and resting a tiny hand on his upper arm (you couldn't reach his shoulder). As you grabbed his other hand, you started stepping along to the music. Pulling on his hand helped him follow in the right direction, but it was mostly you stepping around him more than anything, your small size made you much nimbler than he. Catcalls from TSM behind you rang across the club, and you followed Søren's frightened gaze to Doublelift taking a video on his phone.

"Turn that shit off!" He yelled, looking as displeased as a wet cat.

"You'll thank me at your wedding, brah!" Doublelift shot back. You felt the hand on your back ball into a fist and flip the bird at Doublelift, and you pointedly stepped on Søren's foot in response.

"Ow!" He yelped as you shot him a glare.

"Behave." You scolded, and Søren pouted at you in defeat. You noticed that he had started to settle into your movement, and beginning to take the lead more. "It's not so bad, see?"

"I guess so." He noted.

"This song is faster, so it's not as awkward as most slow dances." You explained. And it was hella ironic that it was about the end of the single life. You wondered if anyone was paying attention. As the song moved into the chorus, you felt him lace his long fingers into yours, and tighten his arm around your waist, pulling you a little bit closer. Thankfully, not too close, you needed room for your feet to move, and you didn't want him to feel how fast your heart was going right now. You looked up at him, and he looked down at you. You studied the details of each others faces, the steely blue of his eyes, the gentleness of his brows, the perfectly kissable lips on his thin, but chiseled face. Nothing existed outside of his embrace, you felt yourself relinquish your lead as he confidently moved you over the floor. As the song moved into the next verse, you felt him raise his arm and let go of your waist, and you moved naturally into a spin. Stopping when your arms were reaching as far as they could, you gave Søren a confused look. Where the fuck did he learn that? He gave you a "just go with it" look, and pulled you back into another spin, then catching you, dipping you, and then lifting you clear off the ground before returning you to your original position.

"Søren, what the fuck was that?" You asked. "I thought you said you couldn't dance?"

"I lied." He replied. "I just don't like doing it in public. Kinda like how you said you didn't know what League of Legends was."

How in the fuck did he know!? "I beg your pardon-"

"I flipped through your pictures when you were showing us that video. You had a meet and greet photo with us on there from Summer Split. I have to admit, you're a good bullshitter." Søren smirked.

Well, it was fun while it lasted. You were just another crazy fan to him. "I'm sorry, Sør- Bjergsen. I wasn't trying to pull anything, I swear."

"Why are you sorry?" He hadn't stopped dancing with you. That was something.

"I lied to you, because I thought that if you knew I was a fan, you wouldn't want to be around me. You have enough girls throwing themselves at your feet, and I didn't want to bother you." You hung your head.

He dipped you again. "I don't think you're bothering me."

What? "I-I'm not?" You stammered.

The Dane shook his head. "Nope. You're a chill person, you're not thirsty, you're treating me like I'm any other human being with human needs. It's pretty refreshing, actually."

Score! You did it! "You're too kind, Bjergsen."

"I can still be Søren, if that's what you want." Your ears perked up.

"I mean, that would be wonderful."

"It's nice to hear my own name once in a while, I don't really get that luxury anymore." He gave a disheartened laugh.

You squeezed his hand lightly. "It can't be easy being who you are. You have millions of people around the world who adore Bjergsen. But at the end of the day, is there anyone around to care for Søren?"

He locked eyes with you again, pulling your waist in the littlest bit more. "When you put it that way, the last person who called me that was my mom. Jesus, I'm in deep."

"You should get out more, dude." You suggested, knowing full well that it was a token for him, he didn't have the time to spare for friends- or lovers.

Søren smiled sadly. "If I had the chance to be Søren more often, I would take it. You're very intelligent for understanding that, little bit."

 _Did he just give me a pet name?_ "I think I like Søren a lot." You tried to look happy for him.

And there came the real smile, all teeth and gum. "I'm glad someone does." There was something not quite there, some sadness behind the frames of his glasses, but you didn't dare go there. You had the same problem, true, but he was the last person who needed to know that. As the song ended, he pulled you flush to him for a final dip, and TSM applauded wildly (liquor tends to do that to you). You hugged it out briefly before partially separating, still joined by the hands. You were still looking at him, and he was still looking at you. Neither of you could quite figure out what came next at this point. Do you kiss? Is it too soon? Are you overstepping? The most important thing in your mind right now is that _you do not fuck this up._

"Are you going to the matches tomorrow?" Søren interrupted your trance.

You startled for a moment. "Oh shit yeah, why the fuck wouldn't I?"

The boy grinned at you, in what you thought was relief. "You didn't come alone, did you? You're pretty far from home to be by yourself, especially here."

That was probably the least smooth way of asking if you're single you've ever heard, but you're gonna let that slide for him, because he's fucking Bjergsen. "My little sister's with me, she doesn't drink, so she's back in the room watching HBO or something."

His smile grew, this time definitely in relief. You hoped. "Has she even been to a fan meet before?"

"No? Why do you ask?"

"You totally have to bring her to the photo line tomorrow. Go as far back to the end of the line as you can, and I'll make sure we sneak you both in the back with us." He looked pretty excited about it.

"That's really awesome of you, how will you find us though?" You asked.

Søren whipped out his phone. "Smile!" He said as he posed next to you, taking a selfie. His face could only be described as "surprise buttsex".

"How attractive." You commented, but then really quickly remembered something. "My sister's gonna kill me if she found out I met you tonight, please for the love of God keep that picture to yourself."

Søren saluted you. "Yes'm. Do you stream, by chance?

Like hell you were going to show the internet how you were in bronze, much less your face. "No, but my sister does, I moderate her stream by spamming memes."

The boy's eyes lit up. "That's a great idea! I'll just say we saw her stream and we thought it was really funny, so we wanted to meet her."

Phew, now you had cover. "She'll eat that shit up! She's gonna die when she sees you guys, my sister's a real weeb, Kappa." Aaaaand here come the memes.

Søren burst out laughing. "Well, I can't wait to meet her." He was getting awfully close to you. But speak of the devil, your phone started ringing. It was your sister. You made an exaggerated screeching noise as you moved to answer the call.

"What the fuck do you want?" You grouchily answered. Serves her right for killing the moment.

"Where the fuck are you?! You've been gone for 3 hours, I was going to call the police!" She shrieked into the phone. Søren started giggling because she was just so damn loud.

You sighed. "Do you want me to come back now?" Please say no, please say no, please say-

"Yes." Goddammit.

"Fine." You huffed. "I'll come back now." You pressed end and put your phone away, before turning to Søren forlornly.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked. That was a given, but tomorrow, you would be hanging backstage with Bjergsen. You would likely see neither Bjergsen, nor Søren ever again. The fun was over now. You nodded, but he seemed to understand what you were thinking. "And I know I'll see you again. I promise."

Your eyes widened. "But I'm just a fan?"

Søren squeezed your hands. "Fans are for Bjergsen. For you, I'm Søren, and I need someone to be Søren for. Also, I don't do this for fans." Wait- what?

He lowered himself onto one knee, brought your hands to his lips, and placed a lingering kiss behind your knuckles.

Holy _Fuck!_

"Thank you for the dance, (You). Don't worry your sister, kay?" He said, looking up at you this time. You couldn't really say anything, because why would you be able to if Bjergsen kissed you? He stood up, warming your hands between his own as you nodded. After what felt like 3 hours, you finally stepped back, and waved goodbye as you threw some twenties on the bar on your way out. TSM was whistling at you, and you glanced over to see Søren raising his middle finger high. You gave them an awkward wave as you hustled to the nearest elevator.

As soon as the doors closed, you slid down the wall to the floor to process the events of the past half hour. Even if you never saw him again, you would die at least knowing the feeling of his lips on the back of your hands.

You were never bathing again.


	5. Although the Distance is Daring, We Both Know How to Drive

One box down, and about 42 more to go. You've given your manager two weeks notice, and now you're packing up all your shit in preparation for graduation. You've got to be across the country at USC by next month to make the summer session for your physical therapy masters. The tricky part is finding somewhere to live that's a reasonable distance from the campus and the racetrack, is affordable, and located somewhere you won't be an easy mugging target. Which, in the Los Angeles area, is a Sisyphean task. Since that's proving damn near impossible, you decided to do what was immediately doable, and get your shit together. The physical shit, at least. The rest of you wasn't gonna be together anytime soon.

Your phone buzzed, and you checked your screen to see a new message:

 **Andy Dinh:** _hey did u finish th preakness weekend picks?_

Shoot, you'd totally forgotten.

 **(You):** _still waiting on the robo-handicap to release their card for Saturday so I can put my picks in order._

You and Andy had developed a nice working relationship, he frequently asking you for your handicapping, and you faithfully doing your homework. It made you feel just the littlest bit closer to Søren. He and the rest of TSM had been wonderful to you and your sister, despite losing in the very last teamfight of the 5-game series. You happily exchanged memes, and Søren snuck bunny ears behind your sister in the group photo. It was a dream come true for her, but it's only a dream for you now. Sure, you were incredibly lucky to have the meeting you did in that bar, but you were left thirsting for more, like an addict newly introduced to a fix. You tried to tell yourself that you should count the blessing you received. Tales of fans dating their idols are just tales, and what happened to you was straight out of some teenager's journal. You needed to move on.

Søren wouldn't have chosen an autistic girl like you anyway. He had scrims to play, and footage to review. He didn't have time to give hold you firmly to him like you craved. He couldn't ease your pain when your body's immune system attacked itself. He wouldn't make sure you ate when you were bedridden. And he most certainly would never want to be with someone who ripped out their own hair because it felt pleasant. You quickly grabbed your own hand as it felt around in your locks for a curly strand to pluck. No more bald spots, you promised. You misted hairspray around the crown of your head, and quickly brushed it into place. Flawless.

Your phone buzzed again. Andy should hopefully understand you don't have time for this right now.

 **+1 (424) 149-2176:** _heyy is this (You)?_

Who the fuck is this? You made a puzzled face at the phone as if it could understand. Probably another prankster from high school. They still thought asking you to prom was funny to this day.

 **(You):** _yes, who is this?_

 **+1 (424) 149-2176:** _it's soren_

There was a clack as your phone fell out of your hand onto the floor. Thankfully, it was carpet, and your phone had a case, so no damage was done. _No fucking way. This has got to be a prank. How'd he get my number anyway?_ You devised a little test to see if you were dealing with the real McCoy.

 **(You):** _howd you get this number?_

 **+1 (424) 149-2176:** _i found the card you gave regi. i've been looking for weeks and i just found it like 20 mins ago. sorry for creeping._

Son of a bitch, he's been thinking about you for weeks? Your heart skipped a beat at the thought. You actually mattered to this guy? That's impossible. Has to be Doublelift pulling a prank or something.

 **(You):** _very funny liftlift_

 **+1 (424) 149-2176:** _im not fucking dl im soren i s2g dude_

 **(You):** _prove it_

There was no response. You felt like an ass for demanding proof. He was just trying to be nice to you. You were about to throw your phone against the nearest wall in frustration when you felt your phone vibrate once more. There was a video attached. You opened it and saw Søren smiling that smile into the phone camera.

"See, (You)? It's ya boy Bjergerking." He made the duckface and threw a peace sign as the video clip ended. It was real now. You had Søren Bjerg's cell phone number, and you were having an actual conversation. You were tempted to place a call to 911 to get them to find out whatever drug you must be on, but the tiny piece of confidence in you was sparking for the first time in a long time. This was _real._ You squealed like a little girl, thankfully, you lived alone, not that that was great at any other moment but this one. 

**(You):** _i cant believe this is fucking happening_

 **+1 (424) 149-2176:** _well baylieve it. watchu doin rn?_

**(You):** _trying to contain my life in shitty cardboard boxes/procrastinating on finding somewhere to habitate_

**+1 (424) 149-2176:** _wait ru movin?? where to?_

**(You):** _im going to USC for grad school, my program starts in june_

**+1 (424) 149-2176:** _oh hot dayum thats my hood m90! do you gotta skype or something?_

Your heart fluttered as you read that last text. You figured they lived somewhere in California, but not that close to where you were going to study. Is this a sign?

 **(You):** _yeah its (your skype)_

 **+1 (424) 149-2176:** _coolio. go log on nao._

Holy fuck. Shit's going down for real. You almost skipped over to where your rig was set up and opened up your skype. The application made the familiar _whoosh_ noise as it loaded.

_TSM Jatt (tikkamasala69) has requested to add you to their contacts_

What the fuck kind of skype name was that? You chortled as you accepted the request.

_Incoming call from: TSM Jatt_

Shitshitshitshit be cool for fucks sake please be cool. The black screen pixelated before clearing up into the lovely face of Søren. "Hey, can you hear and see me?" You asked, testing the connection. Hopefully that wasn't too awkward.

Søren smiled in recognition and what appeared to be genuine joy. "Hey, what's up? How've you been? I missed you!"

He missed you! "Pretty good!" You feigned. Let's not hit him with the heavy stuff. "I'm just stumped with house hunting, a lot of the stuff I can actually afford is either way too far away from campus, or somewhere I'd get jumped. It looks like I'll be packed before I know where I'm going to be putting everything." You groaned in frustration.

"I can't believe you're moving so close to us, Jesus Christ! We can hang out IRL now!" Uhhhh, what? He would do that?

You tried not to look shocked on camera. "Yeah, just gotta find myself a hovel to house my rig first."

Søren got the "lightbulb" expression. "You know who could help you? Regi has a really good real estate agent from back when we were looking to move into this house. Since you're kinda helping him out big time right now, I bet he'd totally set you guys up."

Your heart melted at the sweet gesture. "He'd do that?"

The boy on the screen nodded. "Of course! Why wouldn't he?"

There were at least 45 different answers to that question on the tip of your tongue, but you bit them all back. "Well, that'd be awesome. Thank you, Søren!"

Søren giggled. "Oh man, it feels so nice to hear somebody call me that! 'Bjergsen this- Bjergsen that-' gets pretty fucking tiring."

You smiled. "That skype name doe."

The Dane snorted "I tried Bjergerking420 after my last skype got leaked, but it was already taken."

You scoffed. "Not like that's any better." You realized then that if you had both his skype and cell phone number, he _really trusted you._ "Now what do I make your contact name in my phone?" You wondered aloud.

"Make it a twitch meme or something. Or just use Lucas Larsen, we're both Danish, except nobody wants Santorin's fucking number."

You laughed so hard you almost fell out of your chair. "Your shade just traveled over the internet and shoved me out of my chair!"

"Anything to make a lady laugh." He grinned smugly.

You bit your lip. "That was a slick and trendy avian meme, m8."

Søren smiled gently and leaned closer to the camera. "What are you doing tomorrow at this time?"

You mentally flipped through your day. "Tomorrow is my day off, so I normally stay home. I'll just kinda be hanging around here." That came out a little more depressing than intended.

Søren half-nodded, as if he caught the feels. "Let's do a skype date. I won't have any scrims after that time so we can talk for longer." He instructed.

"It's a date!" You confirmed. Not like a date-date. Just a skype date. Calm down there.

The boy smiled. "Alright, I gotta split, I'll text you, 'kay?"

You nodded. "'Kay." You murmured.

Søren made a lippy grin and started waving (more like flapping) his hands at the camera. "Buh-bye!" He announced, in a silly voice.

You quietly snickered, before waving once back and ending the call. You exhaled, and rubbed your temples. Then, you opened your phone contacts, and created an entry for his number.

Robb Stark.


	6. I Wake at the First Cringe of Morning, And My Heart's Already Sinned

The dim lighting of your new apartment was pissing you the fuck off. The bulb was fluorescent, and about to go, too, because you could hear the high pitched squealing the bulb makes at the end of its life. Fluorescent lights were a negative sensory thing for you, as was high pitched anything (you had really good hearing). You needed to replace the thing, but you didn't know where the nearest Home Depot or Lowe's was yet, and you weren't going to attempt to find one at 5:04 pm on a weekday. Not in Los Angeles traffic. Besides, you had to wait for the moving truck to show up. You were getting your shit dropped off (finally), but you were sure as shit not looking forward to the actual moving-in nightmare. You just wanted to play some fucking league and sleep in a real bed. Well, you would at least be doing the latter at some point tonight, once you picked through enough of your shit. This was way too much for you to handle, but you couldn't afford to hire help.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. Probably the movers calling to ask where they should park.

**(Robb Stark):** _look outside m8_

You furrowed your brow. You never told Søren where you lived. Peeking out your window, there he was, making some dumb-ass expression.

**(You):** _yo wtf howd you get this address_

( **Robb Stark):** _a journalist never reveals his sources_

 **(You):** _jesus christ your creepin me da fuck out_

**(Robb Stark):** _ok fine regi told me, now please come outside i have a surprise for you_

Oh boy, this cannot be good. You tepidly opened your door and made your way to the front of your building, and took in the surprise. The moving truck was parked out front, and Søren was sitting on a pile of boxes. He was accompanied by what looked like the entire TSM organization, who were milling about, not knowing you had arrived.

"(You)! You're here! You're here!" Søren chanted happily. It felt weird seeing him in person again. Mainly because you weren't dressed to kill this time, and you were tired. You felt exposed, but strangely comfortable with him. Only him. Suddenly, everyone's eyes were on you, and you were shrinking like an ant under a magnifying glass. They must know all about you by now. Just by looking at you, they must know everything wrong with you, everything different, monstrous, abhorrent-

"I can't believe you're finally here!" You were picked up and swung around like a ragdoll. Søren was really fucking excited to see you. Your face was smushed into the crook of his neck as he tightly wrapped himself around your little shoulders, letting the rest of you hang limply.

"-an't breathe, -oren!" You choked out. The gesture was sweet, and you felt really damn important, but your ribs were being crushed.

"Shit! Sorry, sorry-" Søren sputtered, setting you down quickly, face flushing as he backed away. "I missed you a lot."

"I noticed." You sarcastically responded. But it was a fantastic feeling, being held tight. It was the only thing that could trigger the calming hormones. Which is why you were pretty leechy with most humans, and, ironically, it just made them go away faster. Quite the paradox. Definitely would not be the desired result of this, erm, whatever this was with the Dane.

The boy gestured wildly to his teammates. "Guys, this is (You). (You), these assholes are TSM."

"Hey!" Svenskeren threw a handful of bubble wrap at Søren in retaliation.

"That violent man over there is Dennis." Søren introduced. "We only keep him around because EU junglers are superior."

You waved awkwardly. Dennis thrust his chin at you in acknowledgement.

"This is Kevin." Søren pointed to Hauntzer.

"I thought you said, and I quote directly: 'If I lose to Dyrus in lane, I will retire'?" You challenged.

A chorus of "oooooohhhhhh"s rang out as Kevin hung his head. "TSM was supposed to be trash, I did it for the meme. Don't come after me for the old shame, bro."

"You're trash, dude." Doublelift proclaimed. "And before Be-jerg-sen gets a meme in, I'm Peter, and this is Vincent, our new support. And no, I'm not really that big of an asshole. I saw what you did back at Mandalay Bay, shit's impressive yo."

You had only just heard about Biofrost getting recruited after Bora left (thank God above he did, back jacking off with Rekkles where he belonged). That the Doublelift complimented you meant a lot. He's no easy customer. "Thanks dude." You replied.

"And you know Andy already, so I guess you're good now." Søren mused. He then clapped his hands, snapping everyone to attention. "Okay, let's start hauling boxes up!"

You blinked rapidly. "Wait what? You guys just showed up here to help me move?"

Søren nodded like it was obvious. Well, not that it wasn't obvious. "Duh. Who's gonna get all this shit in order, you? Not with those twigs, kiddo. You need to bring the gun-show." He flexed his arm proudly, poking your shoulder.

Peter rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, Søren, you have the tiniest arms on the team." He curled his bicep, and damn, you didn't know gamers could lift. "You want a gun show, I'll give you a gun show."

"Ladies! You're both pretty, now shut up and carry something. That's what Andy pays you for, right, Peter?" You responded loudly to break them up.

"Totally." Said Kevin, drily. "We're Team Sexy Movers."

Everyone stopped what they were doing to laugh at that one. Thankfully, the funny business stopped quickly, and within an hour and a half, most of your things were out of boxes and arranged where they should be. You had dishes in cabinets, gaming station set up, the whole shebang. Well, except for one bag. That had your weighted blanket and stim toys in there. You didn't want to explain what those were for and how autism worked just yet.

"Where do you want this one, (You)?" Søren asked, carrying said bag.

You almost flipped your lid. "Uhh- you can leave that one alone. I'll get it later." You stammered.

Søren quirked an eyebrow at you. "It's fine dude, we can get it over with now."

"But I don't want you to see inside."

"Why, what's in there, underwear?" Søren asked.

How convenient of an excuse. You nodded your head. Søren immediately blushed and looked at his feet. "Oh, I see then. I'll go tell them we're finished up here." You followed him outside, relieved. The team looked pretty wiped, must have been difficult moving you in.

"I can't thank you guys enough for helping me, I wouldn't have managed it on my own." You thanked them.

Dennis smiled. "No problem, anything for a pretty lad-" Søren elbowed him "I- I mean friend of Søren!"

Your stomach decided to respond by making a lovely noise. You were about to look for a hole to crawl into when Vincent chimed in: "Holy fuck I'm so hungry."

"Same." You replied, in your best Sneaky imitation.

"Well, since you just got here, it's only right we take this young lady to show her the finest of LA area cuisine: The strip mall on Figueroa!" Andy proclaimed.

There was a series of cheers and fist pumps. "That strip mall literally has every good chain and local restaurant in the area." Søren explained. "Just think of some cuisine and that's where we'll go."

You put your finger to your lip and pondered for a moment, before deciding. "But do they have a California Pizza Kitchen?" You asked. Their red velvet cake was your entire life.

"Oh fuck yes they do!" Vincent enthusiastically replied.

You did a little dance as Andy clicked the button on his key to unlock the SUV. "Shotgun!" Peter claimed, to the groans of the rest of the team. Andy suddenly paused.

"Shit, I forgot, the car's full, we were riding dirty with Vincent already, we can't squeeze you in." He explained.

You shrugged. "I have my car here, I'll just follow you."

Søren moved quickly next to you. "I'll go with you. You'll probably lose him in this traffic, and I know how to get there on my own."

"I have GPS, dude-"

"That way Vincent will actually get a seat this time, and not the trunk." He finished.

"Praise Jesus!" The support exclaimed.

You rolled your eyes. "Alright, if you insist." You were secretly really, really excited to be alone in your car with him, but you didn't want to spook him. If he were anything like the others...

You were interrupted by Søren's hand on your back. "Where'd you park?"

You pointed to your car. Søren grinned widely. "Sweet ride, dude."

"Thanks." You offered him your hand. "Shall we?"

He took it. "We shall."


	7. Though We Live on the US Dollar You and Me, We Got Our Own Sense of Time

"Okay, so the address for the California Pizza Kitchen is 1538 Figueroa St."

"Got it." You affirmed, punching the number into your GPS. "Coulda gotten there myself, you know."

Søren shook his head and tutted. "You don't know Los Angeles like we know Los Angeles. Trust me, you would have gotten lost in traffic."

"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that, big boy." You murmured, swiveling your head as you backed out of the spot and peeled away. "Time to turn the fuck up." You stated once you got driving forward, fiddling with the radio station. "What's good around here?"

Søren shrugged. "Eh, I don't really bother with it that much, it's pretty hit or miss on the hits station, and I don't like country." His eyes landed on a button on your dash. "Wait a sec, does your car get Sirius?"

You nodded "Aw yis, you know it dude."

"Rad!" Søren complimented. He settled on an alternative rock station called Alt-nation. "I feel like now's not the time to listen to Lithium, so I guess this is a compromise."

You snapped to attention. "Get the fuck out, Lithium is my main preset! Switch to it right now!"

"Really?" asked Søren, surprised. "I wouldn't have pegged you as someone who liked the harder stuff."

"I don't really like screamo or death metal." you explained. "I go into more punk and lighter grunge stuff, I like Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco, as well as All Time Low. I'm kinda old to be liking that shit, though."

Søren quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean 'too old'? You can't be older than anyone on the team right now, can you?"

You snickered. "I'm 22. The average age of a fan of those bands is 13. I once had to turn down a fan who asked me out at a show last summer because they were 17, which was a bummer because they were hot but still, I felt like an old lady there."

"Well, I can agree with that. In eSports age, Peter's a real geezer, and he's 24." The Dane joked.

You scoffed. "Søren! Be nice!" You slapped his arm.

The boy pouted. "Do you assault all of your friends?"

He called you a friend! "Only the cute ones." you retorted quickly, before covering your mouth at your slip.

Søren giggled. "I'm cute! I'm cute! She said I'm cuuuuute!" he imitated Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in his best squeaker voice. You shook your head and didn't reply. Thank Jesus you didn't fuck that up. "Okay, get in the right lane up here and get into the turn lane." he interrupted.

You gave him an odd look. "My GPS says to keep going straight?"

"Your GPS doesn't account for the construction on Exposition. You need to turn here to go around it."

"Søren, I don't need you to tell me-"

"I thought men were supposed to be stubborn about directions." Søren shot with a smile. You rolled your eyes and did what he said.

"You win." you muttered.

Søren smirked triumphantly. "I always do. That's why I'm the best player in NA." You smacked his arm again, hard this time. "Jesus Christ!" he yelped. "Who taught you to do that?"

You smirked this time. "That's how my riding instructor taught me to deal with a naughty horse. They communicate by biting each other, so you pop them hard enough for them to not like it, but not enough to hurt. It's quite effective with the rude ones."

"Why would you treat me like a horse, though? Are you trying to ride me?" Søren asked, before quickly facepalming into the next century once he realized what he'd just said. You laughed so hard your face turned red as a cherry tomato. Your passenger looked like he was about to cry. "I think I'll shut up now." he lamented. The rest of the ride proceeded with you laughing, and him silent, save for him signaling when to turn into the strip mall. You found a spot easily, and Andy's car emptied out nearby.

"You find it okay?" Andy asked.

You nodded. "Yep, thanks to Captain Beanpole here." you gestured to Søren.

Andy snorted. "I'm surprised you didn't lose us. Bjergsen's shit with directions." With that quip, he turned and started for the restaurant, leaving everyone in stunned silence, save for a quiet "burn" from Kevin. The rest of the team kept shooting glances at you both, and you felt uncomfortable. Did they think you were weird? Did they _know?_ Soon enough, you were seated at a booth, smushed between Søren and Peter, and everyone was focused on their menus.

"What are you getting?" Søren asked, craning his neck to look at your menu, despite the fact that he had an identical menu open in his hands. You chose to ignore that fact.

"I usually get the tostada pizza. It's like a taco on a pizza." you explained, mouth watering.

Søren licked his lips. "That sounds heavenly, I'll spilt one with you."

You mock-gasped. "You will most certainly be getting your own damn pizza. I can finish one myself, thank you very much."

"And where the fuck will you put it?" countered Peter. "You're so tiny, there's no way you can eat that whole thing."

He didn't understand how you were constantly hungry, but too tired to eat. How your body attacked itself to the point of emaciation. "Watch me." you asserted.

The Danish boy, now convinced, decided he was getting a BBQ chicken pizza instead. The rest of the evening was spent chatting with the team, as well as playing footsie (more like obnoxiously kicking) with Søren under the table. Once the food came out, you were dead silent as you finished the whole pizza, true to your word.

"But where does it go?" Kevin asked, astounded. "Do you have, like, hammerspace in there? Are you a wizard or something?"

You shrugged. "I just have the metabolism of a meth addict. I'm always tired, and I'm always hungry."

The rest of the group engaged in pointless conversation until the bill arrived. You quickly fished out your wallet and began counting the cash you would need to pay for your food. Søren batted your hand away.

"Ah-ah-ah, I got it." he offered.

You were shocked. That's what's supposed to happen on a date. This wasn't a date, was it? "No, I'm paying for my food. I can handle it." you insisted.

Søren shook his head. "Put that away, you're money's no good here."

"Søren, I insist, you guys just spent all this time moving my shit, it's the least I can do."

"That's what friends are for, silly." Søren grinned. "I got this."

You sighed in resignation. "Fine. But I get to pay next time."

There was a sudden shuffling of chairs as Andy and the rest of the team stood up. "We're gonna head out." he announced. "Bjerg knows how to get home from here. We'll see you around." He waved as he turned to exit the restaurant. Kevin and Dennis looked at each other, then at you, and they had the weirdest look on their faces, as if they had just been told the world's best dirty joke. You and Søren were left alone at the table. You jumped when you felt his hand on your shoulder.

"Have you seen Civil War yet?" he asked.

You shook your head. "Nope. I've just seen the memes about it." His hand was still on your shoulder. It felt nice now.

Søren's mouth hung agape. "That's it, we're going." he decided, pulling you up with him.

"But I thought you had to-"

The boy snorted. "I don't have to go home right _now_. The movie theater's just on the other side of the parking lot. It'll be perfect."

It would be perfect to be alone in a movie theater with Søren. How stereotypical is dinner and a movie? "Well, I guess."

Søren grinned widely. "My lady?" he offered his hand.

You smiled in return. "Sir?" you took his hand.

The boy eagerly led you to the cinema, once again, insisting upon paying for your ticket and popcorn. He ushered you into a the middle of a row (he says it's the "optimal viewing location"), and proceeded to hold onto your hand for the rest of the movie. Not once did he attempt that tacky-ass "I'm yawning, stretching- oh whoops there's my arm" maneuver. He just held onto your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. At some points, you winced because the noise was just too loud for you, and he squeezed your hand lightly every time he felt you jerk in recoil. It wasn't so much as a _stop_ as it was an _I'm here_ , which you immensely preferred. As the movie went on, your body started to tire, you started shivering from the overly-air-conditioned theater, and your eyes started to droop. Søren, noticing you starting to wilt like a plant in the frost, took off his sweatshirt and pulled it around you, and it was so big you looked like you were drowning in it. You tried your best to get the arms through the sleeves, but you had to roll them halfway up to get your hands all the way through the holes. Søren then raised the armrest separating you, pulling lightly on your arm to get you to lean against him, and you let your head rest against his forearm. He lightly tapped his fingers against the back of your hands as he held it to keep you awake enough to finish the movie. When the lights came up as the credits rolled, you stood up and stretched like a cat, cracking your neck loudly. You started to pull the boy's sweater off of your frame, but he touched your arm.

"Keep that on for now." he ordered, smiling softly.

You didn't challenge him, you were too tired, and the sweater was really soft. Its weight on you felt soothing. You both stumbled out of the theater, eyes adjusting to the lighting change. Suddenly, Søren tapped your shoulder.

"Race you to the car!" he yelled, already running across the lobby.

"You little shit." you murmured, tearing off after him. He was fast, but your short little legs were faster. You caught up to him in the parking lot, jumping onto his back as he reached to touch the door handle of your car.

"Gotcha!" you proclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck.

Søren stumbled under your weight, grabbing your legs as you wrapped them around him. "No fair!" he whined.

You laughed. "Go horsie, go!" Søren flapped his lips like a horse, running a lap around your car with you riding piggy back.

"Okay, you're really light, but I'm really tired. I'm putting you down." he wheezed as you slid off of him. You unlocked your car, and you both climbed into the seats as you started the car's engine. Night had fallen, the sky was ink black, and your radio station was playing Hannah Hunt.

"That was fun." Søren stated quietly.

"Yeah." you breathed.

You sat in comfortable silence for the next couple minutes, sinking into the warm leather of the seats. As the song moved to the bridge, you looked at him, and he looked at you. You boldly rested your hand on the center console, and he moved his hand next to yours, not yet touching it. This night had been perfect. _He_ was perfect. The song swelled into the last verse, and he suddenly lunged forward, winding his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and swaying with you to the rhythm of the percussion. It was like your first dance, but in your car. As the singer finished, he pulled back to look at you, and you did nothing, just waited with bated breath. You stared into his widening pupils for some eternally long seconds, hoping that you were only doing what was right.

Fuck what's right. You darted forward and pressed your lips to his. Neither of you moved, just sat there with lips touching, not even breathing. You thought it would all end right there when his lips started moving against yours. You had no idea what to do, you've only done this in dreams, so you just pulled his lower lip between yours, and slid your lips against his. After a few seconds (hours?), he pulled back, and you expected him to look shocked, to never want to see you again, but he didn't. He just looked content.

"Say something." you begged, whispering.

He shook his head. "Why? We could be doing this." He pulled you closer and captured your lips, and your heart.


	8. Another Social Casualty, Score One More for Me

"Stop fiddling with your hair, you look fine." Søren gently grasped your wrist to move your hands away from your head. 

You looked at him. "But it's humid outside, and I'm going full-on Mufasa mane!" you whined.

Søren rolled his eyes. "You look beautiful."

You weren't used to being complimented by people yet, so his comment felt heavy on you. "Promise?"

He stopped you, turning you to look at him. "I promise." He pressed his lips to your forehead. It tingled on your skin, and the calming hormone release flooded you, making you drop your tension like a hot potato. You liked it a lot when he did that. He rested his hands on your shoulders. "It's just a house party at Cloud 9's, not a funeral, you don't have to be so worried."

You huffed. "When you have hair like mine, you're always worried. Maintaining hair this long and thick is like having a child attached to your head." He grinned and moved to ruffle it, but you slapped his hand away. "Uh-uh, don't you be touching it! I spent too damn long corralling it for you to go in and fuck it up!" That was close. He almost rubbed out the hairspray holding down where the hair was growing back.

Søren took your hand and started back to the front door of the house. You were really lucky that he invited you to this party to meet some of the people on the other teams. Normally, you didn't do parties, since large groups of unfamiliar people and autism tended not to mix well. As long as Søren was around the whole time, maybe it would be fine, but you were still a ball of nerves. Søren, seemingly sensing this, stopped you one more time.

"They're gonna like you, don't worry, little bit."

You smiled at the pet name. He started calling you that more and more often after that first kiss in your car. Søren rapped on the door 3 times, and, after a short pause, it swung open to reveal Hai. The support blinked in confusion before reaching out to greet his rival.

"Bjerg! Good to see you!" he hugged the taller boy. Not that Hai was short, like you had been expecting. After he and Søren broke apart, Hai turned to you, and you almost shrunk into the sidewalk. "And it looks like you've got arm candy!" he clapped his hands.

Søren slung an arm around your shoulders, squeezing one. "This is (You)." he introduced. "She plays league too."

Hai raised his eyebrows in interest. "What do you main?" he asked.

"Ahri mid." you squeaked.

Hai chuckled. "Oh, so you've got a mini-me now, Bjerg?" He extended his hand. "I think you might know who I am already, but I'm Hai. It's nice to meet you."

You took the hand offered and shook it quickly. His hand was soft and felt like he used lotion.

"Come on in, you guys." Hai motioned to the door. "Party's just started."

Søren ushered you inside the house, and you stopped for a moment to look around at this strange new environment. Dubstep blasted from the speakers (this track might have been Silver Scrapes, you weren't sure). Throngs of young men were standing and chatting with one another, some of them were in team apparel. You recognized a handful from around LCS. Wildturtle was standing in the center of the room laughing at something Pobelter said, while Peter and Kevin looked on. Santorin was standing with Quas in a corner, talking quietly. Dennis and Froggen appeared to be having a drinking contest, egged on by Keith, Big, and Vincent. A big clump of people took up much of the couch space in animated conversation, you spotted Huni, Reignover, Impact, Piglet, GBM, and Rush speaking in hurried Korean, gesticulating wildly as they talked. Moving fluidly between all of them were dozens of young men you did not know, and between the talking, the pounding music, and the smells of alcohol and teenage boy mingling in your nostrils, you were already on sensory overload. Quietly, of course, you didn't want to give it away. Søren herded you through the crowded house out to the backyard, where there were no walls for music and voices to echo from. Immediately, a young man turned around, and excitedly strode over.

"Bjerg! How's it been, bro?" He clapped Søren on the back, before briskly hugging him, which Søren eagerly returned.

"Dardoch, my man, it's been way too fucking long." He noticed you beside him. "(You), this is Josh, he jungles for Liquid." he introduced. You shook hands with the young man, he looked barely old enough to graduate high school. You've seen his gameplay, you were thoroughly impressed with his hard-carry mentality.

"Pleasure." Josh greeted, turning to Søren. "I heard about Santorin, can you fucking believe it?"

What was this now? "Oh my God, it's total bullshit!" Søren exclaimed.

"Did someone mention the Dane squad?" you heard a heavily accented voice behind you. You turned, and were approached by Jensen, holding a Rolling Rock in one hand, and his phone in the other. He was accompanied by a similarly inebriated Sneaky. In person, they could totally pass for members of a boy band.

Søren groaned loudly, and muttered something in Danish as he went to clap Jensen and Sneaky on the back. "Goddammit, I can't possibly keep anything from you, can I?"

Sneaky pointed at you with his beer. "Who brought the grill?"

Søren put an arm around your shoulder. "Oh, this is (You), she plays league too, so I thought I'd bring her along. (You), this is Nicolaj and Zach, but I think you've seen them play before."

You shook each of their hands in turn. "So, what's Meteos's opinion on this new relationship?"

Nicolaj spit out his beer and burst into laughter, and the rest of the group was gasping for breath.

"Holy shit Bjerg, where'd you find this one, Korea?" Zach queried. "Fucking savage meme right there."

Nicolaj waved his hand. "Well the memes are true, we kinda are butthole buddies, mate." He took a sip of his drink. "Just like Lucas and-"

Josh shoved him, glancing at you pointedly. You looked confusedly at Søren, and he gave you a look that said "later". He was also significantly paler, but you decided to ignore that for now. "So," you began, changing the subject "Who do you think is the better mid-laner, you or Søren?"

Nicolaj stared at you, dumbfounded. "Are you _retarded_?" he deadpanned. "Me, obviously, didn't you see me kick this flagpole's ass a few weeks ago?" Zach quietly dropped a "same."

You really hoped Søren didn't notice you wince at the sharpness of the other Dane's slur. Sure, he probably didn't mean it really, he couldn't possibly know about the autism.

Søren snorted once. "Ladies and gentlemen, the most toxic player in the LCS." he applauded in mockery.

Zach turned to you. "Hey, kid, what do you main?"

"I main Ahri, just like this one right here!" you proudly announced, tapping Søren's arm. Søren kissed your cheek gratefully.

Nicolaj scoffed. "Wow, Søren, you didn't mention you like autistic girls!"

Zach snickered. "Literally, most autistic champ NA. Bronzie mid."

That was a direct shot to the heart for you. There was no way he could possibly know he truth about you, but you still felt so violated, and the risk of Søren figuring it out in public was too damn high. You mustered all of your self-control for _quiet hands, quiet body_ , just like your teachers repeated for your schooling years. Looking at your companion's face, you noticed that he was now focused on something Josh was telling him. This was your opportunity to get away and have your impending breakdown in private. You stepped away unnoticed, weaving your way through the small clusters of boys scattered throughout the house. Making your way to a bathroom, you slipped inside, and closed the door, before sinking down against it. You balled yourself up, trying to stimulate the calming hormones from physical contact. Sometimes, it worked, but it would have to do for now. You were startled by a knock on the door.

"It's occupied!" you called out.

"(You)? It's Hai. Are you okay in there?" Shit. He saw.

"Yeah, I just needed the bathroom." you lied.

"Bullshit. Do you need me to get Bjerg?" he asked.

That was the last thing you needed. You bolted upright and opened the door. "Please don't tell him, I don't want him to know anything's wrong." you pleaded quietly.

Hai nodded. You couldn't quite decipher the look on his face. He gestured to you to stay put, and walked over to Bunny FuFuu, whispering something in his ear, which caused him to walk off towards the patio. Hai made his way back to you, taking your hand.

"I sent him to distract Bjerg, so he won't be bothering us. Let's talk in my room." He led you up the stairs and into his room, closing the door behind him. He gestured for you to sit down in his desk chair. It was really comfortable, seeing that it was intended for hours of playing. Hai sat across from you on his bed. "So, what did they say to you?" he asked, folding his hands across his lap.

You looked at him in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

Hai gave you a knowing look. "You Marshawned the fuck out of there pretty quickly. Jensen and Sneaky aren't exactly known for being the politest people on the planet. What did they say to you?" he asked again.

You sighed. "Nothing, really. It shouldn't have gotten to me."

Hai reached out to touch your hand. "Well, it wasn't nothing if it did."

You swallowed. "Nicolaj asked if I was retarded and called me autistic. I'm sure he was joking, but it's just that, I'm...well..." you paused. Once it was out there, it was out there.

"It hit close to home for you? Hai asked gently. You could only nod. "I see what you're saying. They're gonna get a talking-to about that, don't you worry." There was a knock on the door. Hai stood up to answer it, and opened the door to reveal Zach and Nicolaj. Hai gestured them to come in.

"What did you want? Bunny didn't tell us anything." said Zach.

Hai crossed his arms sternly. "You two owe her an apology." he pointed to you.

"Hai, really, it's fine-" you started.

"No, it isn't." He cut you off. Nicolaj gulped, and Zach started wringing his hands. "You can't just go around calling people retarded and autistic."

"Oh, you heard us?" said Nicolaj. "Obviously we were joking, its not like she's actually autistic or anything, right?" he turned to you.

You looked at your feet, starting to back into the nearest corner to get some contact. If they figured it out, they were gonna tell Søren, and who knows what he would think.

"Oh _shit_." Zach muttered, face blanching at his error. Nicolaj's eyes widened to the size of platters as he covered his mouth. You weren't sure who wanted to crawl into a hole more right now, you or the Dane. You started to sniffle because it was just too much for you to have it out there, you were too vulnerable, and you didn't know what else to do. "Can I hug you?" you heard Zach ask you, and you nodded. He quickly wrapped you into his arms and pulled you into his chest, and you used his body to muffle any sounds you were making. You felt him pick you up and sit you both on Hai's bed. Zach smelled like fabric softener, shampoo, and just himself. Kinda like what your friend Lydia smelled like when she held you. You wished she were here right now. You felt the bed dip as Nicolaj sat next to you and laid himself across your lap. He wrapped an arm around your waist and rubbed your outer thigh as Zach rubbed your back and your head while slowly rocking you. It felt really nice, and you stopped crying because your hormones were balanced for the first time in a long time. Their combined weight on you was comforting, and it reminded you of being a child again.

"I'm really, really sorry." Nicolaj whispered, looking up at you. "I had no idea that people like you existed, but that doesn't excuse what I said. I was completely horrible to you, and I apologize."

Zach hummed in agreement. "I also wanna say that you're obviously someone that has spent a lot of time looking up to Bjerg, and all of us, and that it's so wrong that we just came out and stepped on you. He brought you here to have fun, and we shouldn't have treated you like that. I know that we were just joking around and all, but it was wrong for us to just go that hard on someone we've known for about two minutes. I am beyond sorry for everything that we said, and I really hope that you can forgive us."

You lifted your head briefly to look in Zach's direction (eye contact was hard, especially when you were upset). "Why are you doing this?" you timidly asked.

"Because you're upset, and it's our fault, and so we wanted to make it better." Nicolaj replied. "That's all."

You sniffed. "That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me. Nobody ever tells me they're truly sorry."

Zach rested his chin on your head. "Well we want you to know we are. Did you need Bjerg to come in here at all?"

Your eyes widened in panic. "Please don't say anything, he doesn't know yet!" you shoved your face back into Zach's chest. Zach and Nicolaj both gripped you a little tighter.

"It's okay, we won't tell anybody." Nicolaj reassured. "I just thought he would have known."

You sighed. "I don't want him to. You guys are pros, you don't need to have a girl around that you have to worry about taking care of. As long as he doesn't know about me, I can keep being with him without ruining his career." you explained.

Zach thought for a moment before replying. "Well, you're right about the first part. But the thing is, if you're right for him, it shouldn't matter. People retire from eSports really early, so something that could make him happy for the rest of his life is probably worth a lot more than something that he's only going to be doing temporarily. You know how much shit Doublelift gets from the casters about being old? In my opinion, I think you should tell him. If he really turns you down over it, he's a short-sighted ass who needs more than glasses to help him see."

"Same" murmured Nicolaj.

"Stop stealing my memes, you monkey." Zach spat.

You felt Nicolaj shrug. "What? It was appropriate for the situation!" he whined.

You took a closer look at the Dane's face. He definitely had Nordic features, but with his round face, big ears, and lopsided smile, monkey was a pretty accurate descriptor. "And monkey is an appropriate name for you." you shot.

Both boys laughed heartily at your joke. "I kind of deserve it at this point." said Nicolaj.

Zach nudged you with his elbow. "Hey, do you happen to have your phone on you?" he asked.

You nodded against his chest. "It's in my pocket."

"Here." said Nicolaj, pulling your phone from your pocket and handing it to you. "Unlock it, so we can add our numbers."

You put in your passcode and handed the phone back to Nicolaj, who made new contacts for the both of them. "Why don't you call yourself Ramsay Bolton, and Zach can be Theon Greyjoy?" you suggested. "That way people won't know who you are by looking at my phone."

Zach chuckled. "What the fuck mate, why do I have to be fucking Theon?"

You shrugged. "Because you're a dickless cuck whose sister is better than you?"

The boys laughed so hard that tears rolled down their cheeks. "Absolutely savage meme, mate." Zach deadpanned.

Nicolaj handed your phone back. "Well, now if you need anything, we're just a text away. You message us any time you feel upset, you got that?" You nodded in confirmation.

"I have to thank you for staying with me like this, I really needed it."

"It was no trouble at all." Zach replied. "Is there anything else you need?"

You turned to look in the mirror, and your short strands were out of place. "My hair has short bits because I pull it out, and now the hair that's growing out got messed up and its showing. I can't go back down there looking like this."

Nicolaj got up and walked over to Hai's dresser. "Here, take some of Hai's hair gel. This is some strong shit, so it should keep things in order for the rest of the day."

You moved closer to the mirror and raked the offered product through your hair. The tacky gel smoothed your hair out easily. Wiping the sticky stuff off of your hands, you turned to the boys. "How does it look?" you asked.

Nicolaj gave a thumbs up in approval. "Looks solid to me." said Zach.

You exhaled in relief. "Well, I can't thank you enough. For everything."

A knock on the door interrupted. Hai poked his head in. "Everything okay in here?" he asked.

You smiled. "Yep, we're all friends now."

Hai smiled. "Good. I just came up to check on you, because I'm not sure if Bjerg is gonna wonder where you are soon. He's pretty distracted for now, but I'm not sure how much longer we can keep him occupied."

Nicolaj stepped forward. "Well, why don't we pretend like we were giving her a tour of the house?"

Hai nodded. "That's a great idea! Why don't we head downstairs?"

You hummed in approval. "I think I'm ready now."

With your permission, Zach took your hand and began leading you downstairs, making sure to talk loudly about where he was taking you. It was nice to know that even if things with Søren went south, you had someone in your corner.


	9. I Don't Know Who I Am Without You, All I Know is That I Should

The AC was blasting in the living room of the TSM house on a sweltering summer day. You and some of the boys were gathered around the TV for a lively round of 8-man smash. After Josh had gotten suspended, Søren had invited his friend over for some stress relief, in the form of good old-fashioned video gaming. Søren had also asked his fellow Dane Nicolaj to stop by to offer a little league pep-talk on being suspended, since he knew all about that. Nicolaj gladly obliged, and brought Zach along with him.

Right now, you were strewn out on the couch, with your head in Søren's lap. Peter was perched on one arm of the couch, and Nicolaj was leaning against the other arm. Josh and Vincent occupied the armchairs on either side of the couch. Zach was on the floor against the couch, and Kevin stood behind you. Left on the map right now was you (playing Lucina, 1 stock), Søren (playing Robin, 1 stock), Zach (Bayonetta, 2 stock), Nicolaj (Ganondorf, 2 stock), Peter (Falco, 1 stock), and Josh (Captain Falcon, 1 stock). That quickly changed when you used your counter on Peter's dash and sent him flying off the map.

"Bulllshit!" Peter exclaimed, throwing away his controller angrily. "What the fuck was that?"

You snickered. "All of the fire emblem clones have a cheap down-B countering mechanic. Just walk up to people, bait them, and then spam like Pikachu." You demonstrated again on Josh.

"That's it, I'm tilted." said Josh, throwing his hands up in defeat. Kevin and Vincent groaned in unison, having been 4-stocked early on.

Nicolaj snorted. "I thought we were gonna work on that, bro." he quipped, knocking Zach off the stage with a single side-B.

"Pounderino'd" Zach called out as he respawned. "That was Grossie Gore level of cucked." Nicolaj taunted in response.

You rolled your eyes. "I thought Rekkles was the true cuckmaster. Just ask Krepo." This earned a round of "oooohs" from the crowd.

"Why even is any of the Fire Emblem cast in this game anyway? Weren't most of their games Japan exclusive?" Søren asked.

You shrugged against him. "I guess he had a huge fan following. I once read this massive fanfiction involving him and the Zelda characters. It was some fucked up shit."

"Jesus Christ the cringe." Zach sneered, finishing off a combo that knocked Søren out.

The Dane's mouth gaped as he dropped the controller. "Holy shit nerf Bayonetta. Reported."

Zach turned to give Søren a shit eating grin. "You were standing around charging. Never let a Robin charge." He barely had time to finish his sentence before you and Nicolaj bounced him back and forth, sending him flying.

"Wombooooooo Comboooooo!" you and Nicolaj chanted in unison.

"Feelsbadman." Zach muttured.

It was just you and Nicolaj left. You stood taunting at one another, before deciding to make your move. You ran to the edge, dodging the Ganon's attack, before activating your counter. Your timing was just slightly early, and Nicolaj grabbed you and jumped off the stage, using up your last stock.

"No fair! That is some fraudulent-ass shit right there! Suiciding isn't a tactic!" you screeched as the victory screen appeared. Nicolaj was trolling the room for high-fives.

"I'll tell you what's fraudulent: your cheap counter mechanic. It's like Pikachu except more cancerous." Søren droned.

You looked up at Søren. "You're cancerous." you challenged.

The bespectacled boy looked you dead in the eye, a mischievous glint shining behind his frames. "You little shit." he husked, moving to start tussling with you.

You grabbed his hands back, but the taller boy had you pinned against the couch, and you tried your hardest to shove him off with your knees. "You wanna fucking go?" you asserted as you scrapped.

Søren lunged forward, yanking the hat off your head, and a shock of terror overcame you. You kicked him hard in the stomach as you scrambled to get away from him and grab your hat back. The hat was covering up the new hair growth where you had pulled it out, and now people could see. Søren was wheezing from the impact, clutching his ribs, and you snatched the hat out of his grip. You wheeled around to see everyone staring at you, as if you had just stabbed their friend. They saw what you were. Unstable, a monster, unfit for him. It was all over now. After a pregnant pause, you dashed to the bathroom, locking the door behind you, and curling up in the corner to get some contact going. You were going to wait until it was quiet before slipping out of the house, as well as Søren's life. He's better off without you.

There was a soft tapping on the door. "It's Zach." said the person at the door. "Can I come in?"

You shook your head as if he could see you. "Don't look at me. I ruined it for everyone."

The door clicked and came open anyway, revealing Zach, who was wielding a bobby pin of all things. "Why do you have a bobby pin?" you asked, temporarily halting your tears due to the sheer ridiculousness of it.

The boy shrugged. "Reasons." he coolly responded. He sat down beside you. "Now, c'mere." he murmured, pulling you into his lap, and you hid yourself in his t-shirt. Zach held you tightly with one arm, and the other hand on the back of your head, but careful as to not disturb your hair. He smelled like brown sugar and that made you calm.

"I'm sorry." you muttered into his chest.

Zach started rubbing your back in short strokes. "You don't have any reason to be sorry." he countered.

"I lied to him- I lied to all of you." you started. "I led him on into thinking that I was different that everyone else- someone dependable, stable, that wouldn't get in anybody's way. But I blew it, and now they all know. And to top it all off, I fucking kicked him in the gut over a hat!" you sputtered out, your words becoming less and less intelligible as you cried.

"Søren's already over it." Zach attempted to reassure you. "He's not hurt, and, to be honest, he kinda deserved it for scrapping with a girl." he chuckled. "Søren's really worried about you. He just wants to make sure you're okay."

You hiccuped. "Do I look okay to you? This is the second time I've broken down in front of you, and not told a thing to the guy I'm seeing. I rip out my own fucking hair. There is nothing about me that's okay."

The boy wiped your tears using the collar of his shirt. "Then tell him now. Just like you've been telling me." he smiled. "And he really likes you, so it should be even easier."

You shuddered. There was still one thing you didn't mention. The most frightening thing. The thing that destroyed everything before, the thing that destroyed her-

"Zach, I have Borderline Personality Disorder." you hurried out. "If I start exposing things to him, I'm going to start attaching to him so strongly that it will consume me. I will need him so much that he will have to leave, and when he does, I won't be able to handle it again."

Zach startled slightly. "Wait, did you say again?"

You nodded into him. "The relationships I form with people are suffocating. Besides Søren, I only have one person left, and that's only because she understands what Borderline is. Every single other person I have ever loved, one by one, couldn't take it any more and left." you looked up at Zach. "That's why I had to lie to him. I suck people in and consume them until they go mad, and the part of me that truly cares about him wants him to be safe from that. I'm a monster."

Zach inhaled. "Oh, no, sweetheart, no." he cooed, hugging you tightly to him. You yelped with every breath as the tears tracked hot down your cheeks, and your nose became tightened and blocked. The boy rocked you back and forth for a while, like a parent hushing a colicky babe. He was warm and the sensory input felt good, so you let yourself cry until your eyes were dry and your whimpers quieted.

The boy rested his lips on your forehead for a while, placing a calming kiss there, and lacing his fingers through one of your hands, and cradling you with his other arm so that you were facing him. "You're not a monster." he began. "These people who left you, I don't understand why they didn't try to understand why you bond with people the way you do." he rubbed your arm. "I know you don't want it to be that way, and I know that you try so hard to protect them, but in the end, it's an unchangeable part of you, like your autism, or the color of your skin." He rested his forehead against yours. "I accept that part of you. And I know that Søren will too, and Nicolaj, and Peter, and Kevin, and whoever else around here."

"B-but it would mean that they would be focusing on me and not the game." you stammered on wheezy breath. "Look at you, you're in here with me and not doing whatever it is you do with your team. I can't make Søren lay down his career for me."

Zach shook his head. "That's just why I think it'll be fine. You already understand what kind of commitments we make as pro gamers. And, if you ask me, you make him better at the game."

You blinked. "I-I really do that?" you stuttered in disbelief, like a child asking if they can have a dog.

He grinned softly at you. "Really. His emotions are a lot more in check since you've been in his life. Ever since finals, he's talked about you a lot with Nicolaj. You're important to him."

"I'm important?" you whispered so delicately it almost couldn't be heard.

Zach hmmmed in response. "I think you should talk to him today."

You tensed, and Zach started rubbing your back again. "Everything's changed now. He's going to be angry, isn't he?"

"If he looks at you funny, Nicolaj will personally beat his ass all the way back to Denmark. We won't let that happen. You're our friend." Zach assured.

You finally smiled because you were their friend. "I just need him to understand that the person coming out of the bathroom is going to be an entirely different one than he met in Las Vegas." You gripped Zach's hand a little tighter. "And, that once I start telling him things, I will start bonding to him and it won't be easy for either of us."

Zach nodded. "I can talk to him for you first, if you like."

You looked at him. "I need Søren to know that I need him to make the right choice for him. I really do care about him and I want him to be the best he can be, even if that means me leaving this house right now and never coming back." you swallowed. "I want him to be able to accept all of me. But I don't want him to try if he isn't ready. And if he isn't, then so be it."

Zach sighed. "Okay." He reached over to open the door. "Yo! Wukong!" he called out for Nicolaj. "You wanna hold my dick while I piss?" you couldn't help but laugh at that quip, and Zach must have sensed it too as he wiped your tears one more time.

Nicolaj approached the bathroom, pausing carefully as he saw you. "You need me for anything?" he delicately asked, squatting to move some hair out of your face.

"I just need you to Chinese firedrill with me while I lube Bjerg's asshole for her." said Zach, gesturing to you. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes, just do what we did last time."

The other Dane nodded quietly as Zach passed you into his lap and stood up, rubbing your hat-covered head as he passed. Nicolaj closed the door and tucked you neatly under his chin, rubbing your back soothingly. "You'll be okay." he said. "I know Søren. He won't let you go."

"I hope so." you exhaled. Nicolaj didn't say anything else, only nuzzled your head with his chin. You sat like that for two, three, maybe even ten minutes before there was another knock on the door.

"(You)?" The voice outside asked hesitantly. "It's Søren." you held your breath, and Nicolaj squeezed you tighter. "I want you to know that I'm not mad or upset about anything. I also want you to know that whoever or whatever you are, I accept you, and I am ready for whatever that means for me." he paused before continuing. "I know that whatever you did was because you wanted me to be happy, and that I will be happy with whoever it is that comes out of that bathroom. I don't want you to be afraid of me. I need you."

The longing lilt in his voice grabbed at your heart, beckoning you to go to him, to hold him, to breathe him in. You glanced at Nicolaj, who nodded, and began to help you up. You took a deep breath as Nicolaj protectively encircled an arm around you as you opened the door. The other Dane slowly led you out of the bathroom as you meekly scanned the hall for Søren.

His eyes met yours, and his expression was completely blank. No anger, no hurt, just him. You just stood a moment, you looking at him, and him looking at you. After what seemed like an hour, he extended one hand to you, and, with a nudge from Nicolaj, you closed the gap between you two. Søren suddenly surrounded you with his body, engulfing you in an embrace so strong you thought you would melt into him. You didn't have the chance to speak to him, because he hooked an arm under your knees and easily lifted you off the ground, cradling you to his chest as he strode over to the stairwell.

"Let's get you upstairs." he murmured as he whisked you up towards his bedroom. You snuggled into him and wondered if you would come out without him.


	10. The Atlantic Was Born Today, and I'll Tell You How

Footsteps were muffled by the thick carpeting as Søren carried you down the hall to his room. You clung to his neck as he awkwardly opened the door, then closed it again with his hip. You'd been to the house a few times, but had never been up the stairs, much less in his room. You didn't think you'd be far along enough in the relationship for a while for that. The Danish boy set you gently on his bed, which was covered by a heavy, gray blanket. The texture was clumped from being put in the dryer on too high of a heat setting, typical boy. The bed dipped as Søren sat down beside you, crossing his legs. You guiltily scooted away from him, as if you would contaminate him if you were too close.  
Fearfully, you quickly glanced all around the room, taking note of how bland it was. A sheet was crudely tacked over the window to form a makeshift curtain. His desk was probably the focal point, with a complete set up, and a sweater flung over the chair. Various hair products littered his bathroom sink. While Hai's bedroom had smelled almost floral, Søren's room smelled a little like pine and honey. It was the kind of smell that made you happy to be there.

"Are you afraid of me?" Søren broke your silence. You whipped around to face him, and found that his expression was totally blank. You didn't respond, only shivered a bit. He reached out to touch you, and you winced, you didn't want to hurt him. He withdrew his hand slowly as not to startle you. "I'm not going to hurt you." he calmly assured.

You shook your head. "I know you won't. It's because I'm gonna hurt you."

"Why would you hurt me?" He was still calm and neutral as he asked.

Looking at your lap, you wet your lips. "Because I've been- I am bad."

Søren's expression was steady, nonreactive. It was pretty comforting, actually. "Why do you think you're bad?"

You didn't feel so defensive around him, because he didn't go for the definitive denial of your claim. That usually led to you feeling the need to demonstrate. "Because I lied to you. About what I do to people."

Søren cocked his head. "And what is that?" he asked.

Better just give it to him straight. "I have borderline personality disorder. I get incredibly attached to people I like. I can't stop telling them about my problems, and I just start needing them so desperately that it suffocates them, and I poison them so bad that they leave." You looked away.

Søren just nodded. His face didn't falter. "Okay." he murmured. There was no affect in his voice. No disappointment, no anger, nothing. It was comforting. Then he bit his lip and sucked in a breath. "I just wanted to know why you didn't say anything."

Your heart sank. "You're the best gamer in the NA LCS, Søren. You can't lay that on the line for me. I can't allow myself the opportunity to hurt you. I just had to be what I thought you needed." Your lip quivered. "But I failed you. I slipped."

Søren was quiet for a moment. "Who are you, really?"

Your throat quaked. "I don't know." your voice cracked. "That's the thing about having borderline. You automatically adjust to be what you think people want you to be. Because there isn't anything underneath it all. Only what you want from people." Your cheeks were scalded as tears came rolling down. "There is _nothing there_."

The boy leaned in a little closer. "What do you want then?" he almost whispered.

It occurred to you that he was the first person to ask that. No fishing, no clinging, no self-deprecation. You lost it. "I want to be held." you exhaled. And there it was, in the open. Your entire aspiration.

Søren blinked. "That's it?" he queried.

"What do you mean?" you asked, astounded that he believed your entire life aspiration to be so trivial.

He reached out his hand. "Well, I mean, can I?" he gestured.

You shook your head. "Søren, if I start now, I'm almost certainly going to start attaching myself to you. I can't take losing anyone else. And I care about you too much to let you suffer what I do."

The boy didn't move. "I'm okay with that." he stated.

You looked up, startled. "Why?" you whined.

Søren grew serious. "Look. I saw what happened to Dyrus when he retired. His girlfriend dumped him, and he was absolutely destroyed. That's when I realized that I can't pass on things that happen because I'm a pro gamer. There's a whole rest of my life that comes after the next few years." He scooted himself closer. "(You), being with you has really helped me improve my attitude. I tilt less, I want to cooperate, I'm just, you know, Søren when I'm around you. You don't need to be what you think I need you to be anymore." He took your hand. You didn't move away. "I'm ready for you to just be."

You completely shattered, almost screaming as you cried. You stifled your yelps as best you could with your hand, and you let Søren enfold himself all around you. You felt him pull you up to the head of the bed, and tuck you both under the blanket. His long legs tangled with yours, and his fingers tangled in your hair and the folds of your shirt. Your hat was nudged off with his chin, and his hand rubbed your back with steady pressure. The hand in your hair carded through the short pieces reverently as he pulled your face into the crook of his neck. Søren smelled like fabric softener, chocolate chip cookies, and something that you couldn't quite identify as anything but uniquely him. It was a smell that you hoped you would get to smell for a long time. The boy nuzzled your hair and placed a lingering kiss there, sending frissons of delicious joy from the spot coursing down your spine and along your limbs and striking, searing your very soul. The encouraging manner in which his fingernails dragged along your back was quelling the cries of your nervous system that had resounded in your body for years, the driving force of everything you did, the very reason you got out of bed in the morning, and the same reason you had considered never seeing another morning. It was as if the Dane had enveloped you and mailed you to a place where not even your own body could rebel against you. It was just you and him. Nothing else plaguing you was invited.

"Is this what you wanted?" Søren murmured into your hair, interrupting your train of thought.

You nodded into his neck. "Mmhm." you hummed.

Søren produced a single giggle. "I just don't understand why nobody wouldn't do this if you asked them. It's not like its difficult. If anything, you're pretty easy to deal with if this is all you need from people."

You shrugged against him. "It's especially cruel when human contact is the only thing that helps with the autism. I can't make enough hormones without it to stop all the twitching and the anxiety."

The boy absentmindedly dragged his fingernails along your cheek. "Surely there was someone that helped you?"

"I lost every last one. All I knew how to do was just pour out every horrible detail of my life in hopes that it would make them want to reach out and touch me." You sighed. "But it backfired. Eventually, hearing about my life drove them to depression, and they began distancing themselves from me. They told me to get help. I didn't even want to tell them about anything. I just wanted them to hold me."

"Therapy does work, though."

"But my therapist doesn't do the dishes that are piling in the sink." you shot back. "I go once a week like a good little patient, and at the end of the session I'm still hungry because I'm too tired to eat, and I still have depression. My therapist isn't going to hold me in the middle of the night because I'm screaming people's names in my sleep. I just wanted a goddamn hug." you warbled as new tears came.

Søren squeezed you so close that every molecule of air between you was forced out. "Little bit, I'm so sorry you've had to wait all this time." he whispered, kissing your forehead. "You don't have to live like that anymore, I promise you."

You sniffled. "But do you really?"

He sighed. "Oh, little one. How many people have promised you this before me?" This only made you cry some more as you heard each one tell you the same empty words over and over again. Your fingers tapped against his ribs each time a new voice sounded in your head. After the fourteenth time, he was crying too.

"No, don't cry, please don't." you pleaded. "I can't do this to you."

"You didn't hurt me." he interrupted. "I'm crying because I _know_."

Your nose was clearing up. "You're one of the greatest people in the industry. What could you know about loss?" you bitterly asked.

Søren smoothed your hair against your head. "I've been bullied almost my entire childhood because I was so small." He swallowed. "I was only about as big as you are now. The other kids used to beat me over and over again while my teachers just watched. It got so bad that I started having panic attacks walking near the school, and I had to drop out of high school after three weeks because they broke my ribs." He threaded his fingers back in your hair. "I changed schools after that, but I couldn't stay. I would panic and hide in my closet because I knew they couldn't get me there. My parents kept trying school after school, but every time they found a new place, I would just lock my bedroom door and play League until my body ached."

You melted into him, closing your eyes as he relaxed against you. "Eventually, I went pro, and my parents fought it all the way." he continued. "But even then I felt worthless. Real men don't game, they go out and play real sports, go to college, and have girls hanging off them. I never asked to be famous." Søren stopped playing with your hair. "But everyone worked with me. They helped me realize that being depressed didn't make me less worthy of my accomplishments. So I became proud of myself. I accepted that people had a reason to look up to me." He nuzzled your hair. "And you'll be proud of yourself too, one day."

You didn't really know how to respond to that. "It helped that you finished puberty." you quipped.

"I did finish puberty." he repeated, trying and failing to stifle laughter. "My point is, though, that eventually, you'll find your own reasons to like yourself. And I'll help you."

You tucked yourself neatly against his chest. "I've had serious depression for years now. What if it never really goes away? What if I don't beat it like you did?"

Søren hummed in thought. "Well, depression is kind of a part of who you are. It's not like cancer where you can just nuke yourself and hope it goes away. The important thing is to accept that there are times when you are going to need certain things, say a hug, or help with folding your laundry. Once you start to accommodate it, it just kinda fades, and it takes a while to realize that you're getting better." He pulled your chin up to look at him, thankfully being careful not to force you to look at his eyes. "And there are times when the depression hits me even now. It's a long process, and the best thing you can do is just be cared for. There's no shame in feeling what you feel."

You let your hand meet his. "But what if I'm sad so much that it makes you sad too?" you asked, feeling very much like a small child.

Søren smiled softly. "Do you think I feel sad right now because I'm with you?" You shook your head. "See? It makes me feel good to do this with you. I feel happy when I'm helping someone." He tapped your chin. "And I know you're the same way. That's why we work well together."

Your body felt relaxed, but not tired. You felt alert, but not anxious. This moment here, with him, was your world now. The voices of the people who came before were quiet now. Your nerves were firing, but not in their normal haywire way, this time they were on fire with incredible excitement and _joy_ and for once in your life your body was _working_. Søren had you now and it was okay, it was almost like being in your house as a child, but you knew you weren't, because you were home now, here, with Søren. Years of training to believe nothing was screeching, fighting to hang on in the recesses of your mind, and it was slowly being eradicated by the way Søren looked at you with that look of his, you didn't know what to label it as. It was just something only he could do. Your mind was begging to ask one question, just one more question-

"Søren?" you breathed, his name delicious on your tongue because you were one of only a few people who could taste it.

"Yes, little bit?" he responded, pecking you on the cheek. The kiss washed out all of the vestigial doubt clinging in your soul with a fiery flash of _oh_

"Don't go." you pleaded, smiling, yet crying.

Søren smiled gently and cupped your face with a touch so- so- whatever it was and touched his lips to yours and stayed, and it was just so perfect because there was nothing else but him. There was no tongue, no movement, just his lips lingering on yours for what seemed to be eons, but who was counting? By all odds, this should never had been happening, but it was. Once he pulled away, he rested his forehead on yours, and his breath tickled your face as he spoke.

"Never."

And for the first time, a word sliced through the chains on your soul, and just for Søren you were free.


	11. Make It Count When I'm the One Who's Selling You Out

_

"Dear Søren,

Meet me at 1:47 pm sharp at the horse track.

You can find me at the horse crossing by the Jamba Juice.

I'll be wearing black and white stripes.

I can't wait to see you!

XXXO -

(You)

P.S. #8 is a safe bet!

P.P.S. WASH YOUR GODDAMN COMFORTER. Make sure you use the medium setting on the dryer or you're gonna burn it."

_

 

Søren crinkled the note in his fist for the fourth time in the past 20 minutes as he waited in line with Andy. The owner of TSM had made an unannounced visit that morning, handed the Danish boy your note, and informed him that they were taking a trip together that day. Naturally, Søren got super suss, as Andy showing up for anything that didn't require being in front of a camera was unheard of. He knew you had gotten a side job at the track of some kind, but he knew none of the specifics. You and Andy had decided to make this a nice little surprise for him, given the bullshit you had been putting him through recently.

Andy tapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon man, it's our turn." he directed as they reached the front of the line. He flashed two passes at the attendant, who waved them through quickly. Søren was immediately hit by the massive spectacle the track was. Betting machines littered the area, with throngs of gamblers clustering around them. Interspersed between them were equally crowded food and drink stands. It was overwhelming, and this was for someone that had played to packed stadiums as a young boy. Søren allowed Andy to shepherd him through the expansive, well manicured grounds, as well as mobs of rather inebriated spectators, until they reached a fence line that barricaded off a pathway. There was a gap in the fencing that had an open cordon of chain, attended to by two security guards. As he swiveled his head, the Dane noticed the Jamba Juice mentioned in your letter. A crowd had gathered along the length of the fence, as if anticipating some event.

"This is a pretty weird place to try and meet up." Søren mused aloud. "There's a lot of people here. Are you sure she'll know to find us here?"

Andy propped his elbows on the fence, checking the time on his sponsor-gift watch. "It's 1:44. Shit runs like clockwork here." He licked his lips. "Believe me, she'll know how to find you."

Søren shrugged noncommittally. "Well, she told me she's wearing black and white stripes, and that should be decently distinctive." He looked around in hesitation. "Although she'd be pretty tame compared to some of these folks" he noted as scanned the outlandish hats many of the women were wearing. He imagined you owned a pretty ridiculous looking hat yourself, but couldn't quite picture what you would desire in a hat.

Andy suppressed a snort. "That's a pretty accurate statement." He motioned for the letter in the boy's fist. "What horse did she say to bet on again?"

Søren startled and hurriedly unfurled the note. "She said she likes number 8." he confirmed.

The TSM owner produced a rather large book, flipping to the appropriate section and smirking. "Of course, she picks a gray." he shook his head and grinned.

"Daenerys Targaryen effect?" Søren asked.

"Most important rule of betting, I know, I know." Andy waved his hand. "It looks like this horse is named Liam's Map. He's got some promise, maybe your girl's on to something here, Bjergerking."

The boy smiled at the nickname. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the security people ushering people to remain clear of the gap in the fence, and closing off the chain cordon. "What's going on?" he asked, concerned.

Andy straightened up, checked his watch, and turned to look down the path. "Showtime!" he declared. Søren followed his gaze and noticed a very tall horse making its way down the path, flanked by several handlers, some in rather expensive suits. The horse was looking rather unsettled, at points veering away, but quickly brought into check by the jockey and leader. The Dane had never realized just how tiny these jockeys were, knees scrunched high by the impossibly short stirrups. He figured that the man atop that horse was no bigger than you. It was amazing to him that somebody so small could have any modicum of control over something so massive and fearful. The crowd along the fence whooped as the line of horses made its way down the pathway, each incredibly toned and glossy-coated animal and entourage strutting proudly towards the track. Søren kept his eyes peeled for the 8th horse in line, the gray you had alluded to. He watched horses 6 and 7 pass by, and when the 8th horse in line came into view, the world around him stopped.

Liam's Map was a beautifully dark and dappled creature, his fine, elegant head held comfortably alongside his handler. A pure white bridle complemented the white blaze going down the length of his dished face. But it was not the impressive visage of the horse itself that faded the roar of the crowd and blurred the edges of his vision. It was the delicate form of the jockey, clad in black in white stripes, that held his heart in his throat. There you sat atop your divine steed, on top of the world, looking only straight ahead as the crowd vied for you below. Your entourage led you confidently to the crossing as cameras snapped and hands clapped, and you did not look at crowd until you saw the Jamba Juice, and you glanced down to see him. For the first time, Søren looked up to you in awe, as the subject of a parading queen would his liege. You shot him the boldest smile you had, as if to say _"gotcha"_. In the brief moment of that look, everything you both needed to say was expressed. The aura of intrigue you held in Las Vegas had returned, and the allure that drove Søren to you was reborn. Right now, you were not broken down, fearful (visibly, at least), or fragile. You commanded respect, showing the Danish boy what you had to offer him. It was as almost as if you were the Mother of Dragons herself, and he was simply lucky enough to be worthy of acknowledgement. The moment was infinite and fleeting, for before anyone had noticed, your eyes were trained down the path once again, and the procession had cleared the crossing, the crowd dispersing to find their viewing spots among the stands.

"Hey Starstruck, let's go." Andy interrupted his trance with a hard shake of his shoulder. Still dazed, he followed his boss towards the track, entering through a guarded doorway that Andy had to show his passes to get through. There were not that many people in this area, but the people here were very lavishly dressed compared to most of the crowds outside.

"This is the VIP clubhouse. You should feel lucky to be here, it costs a firstborn child to get in here unless you have a hookup." Andy confirmed his suspicions. They stopped at an open betting kiosk so the TSM owner could place his wager.

"How long have you known (You) was a jockey?" Søren inquired. While the surprise was pleasant, there was a niggling envy from the apparent connection between you and his boss. It brought out a certain alpha male quality in the tall boy.

Andy scratched his head. "Her first ride was about 3 weeks ago, if I remember correctly. Everything is being arranged by an associate of hers, she's been getting offers from more and more trainers lately." He paused. "I was shocked myself when she popped up in the racing program. I congratulated her and the first thing out of her mouth was not to say anything to you. Said she wanted to make sure she built up a good record before you watched her work." he explained.

There was a small pang of hurt that you didn't trust him enough to stand with you in this incredible time, just as you did for him. At the same time, he understood the self-consciousness that would urge you to hide from him. Søren knew that it would take a lot of time before you would ever be completely open with him, especially with so many people in your wake that rejected the openness you gave them. The only thing to do was just remain a fixture in your life until the desire came about independently, showing you his trustworthiness rather than just asking for yours.

"Makes sense, I just wish she had told me earlier. I wouldn't have cared if she were dead last every time." said Søren.

Andy gave him a look. "You know her better than I do." This statement was a relief to Søren. "She likes having some mystery about her. It keeps you wanting to come back for more."

Søren furrowed his brow as he thought about what Andy just said. It was definitely hot to see this side of you, but he was concerned that it was a product of the Borderline believing that he was getting bored of the relationship. He remembered to ask you about it later.

The machine beeped as it spat out the receipt from Andy's bet. "Now, let's watch your girl go." said Andy, leading the other mid-laner out of the VIP area and back through the crowds until they reached the fencing at the very edge of the track itself. Søren could see the finish line post a ways to his right, the starting gate was far off on the opposite side of the track. The horses were being warmed up before loading into the gate.

You heard the announcer call post time, and the pony alongside you slowed you both to a walk and reversed your course to the gate. Turning towards the stands in the distance, you wondered which of the tiny dots was Søren. Would he be in the VIP seats with Andy? Or would he be along the fence at the finish line, waiting for you to come breezing by? You hoped he would be close enough where you could see him. The world around you shrank as the stewards ushered you into the narrow gate, and you stood up into the two-point, suspending yourself over the colt's neck. All was quiet as everyone stood on a hair trigger, waiting for the signal to go.

The gates flung open, and for a millisecond, everyone stood still, looking straight down the chute, staring out at the open expanse of track ahead. Then, the bell sounded, and you bolted out of the gate, charging forward. The world did not exist outside the track straight ahead. Hooves thundered, and dirt flew from being kicked up by the horses heels, thankfully, all jockeys wore snowboard goggles to protect them. Horse 2 surged to the front of the pack coming down the backstretch, you and a few others remained a few lengths behind. You were smart enough to know that unless your horse was guaranteed to win, you never front-run. Front-runners always lose. The pack bunched up around the curve of the racetrack, and you had to rate Liam's Map so he didn't check anyone next to you. That would be a great way to get an Inquiry and disqualification.

As you could see the stretch ahead of you, you noticed the clown fiesta beginning as the horses began to attempt to pass. Horse 2 was losing steam, as predicted, so you veered right towards the outer edge of the track to make your move. The track straightened, and you put your arms forward on Liam's Map's neck to release the tension in your reins. You urged him forward on the energy you had been charging up from the beginning, sending him flying ahead of the pack. The crowd was going nuts, the cheers for the numbers of their favorites muddling into an indiscriminate cry. As you passed the stands, you let yourself look towards the crowd along the fence line, scanning for his dark-rimmed spectacles.

Søren's eyes found yours, and again, everything slowed, your horse hanging in mid-air as your breathless faces locked on each other. It was almost as if he could reach out and touch you. You turned forward, and a rush of wind hit Søren as you passed the front horse. You pulled away with everything Liam's Map had to give, his legs stretching out straight in front of him. There was a camera flash, and it was over. You had closed out to win the race. The noise of the crowd raged as you relaxed your urging on the colt, reaching to give him a pat on the neck once he naturally slowed enough where you could do so without losing your precarious balance. As you finished your victory lap, you scanned once again for the Danish boy's face, and found him almost overflowing with pride, absolutely beaming at you as you came near. Your face flushed in a sudden twinge of shyness, you were never able to process excessive praise.

Your escorts intercepted you to bring you to the winner's circle, led by your agent, Jerry. Jerry was all smiles as he came over to clap Liam's Map on his sweat-drenched flank, and then you on the calf.

"I told ya, kid, you and this horse were a great match!" he chuckled. "You ruffled your feathers for nothing!

You snorted. "I've got an audience today. I didn't want to invite them and then make an ass of myself out there." You ruffled Liam's Map's mane. "I'm just wondering why they decided to throw me of all people up on a horse of this caliber. It would make a lot more sense to give him to someone with a stronger record, like Julio."

Jerry shook his head. "The statement 'never met a horse he didn't like' doesn't apply to Julio. Sometimes these bigger guys get so defensive of their standings that they'll turn down anything they think they can't ride." He quickly looked from side to side. "And you're a helluva lot cheaper too!" he stage-whispered, throwing in an exaggerated wink that made you snicker. The escort wheeled Liam's Map around in the winner's circle, facing you towards the waiting camera. Your entourage arranged themselves around the horse, all decked out in their finery for the occasion. It was an odd contrast to the dirt splattered on your jockey silks, the thought of which helped you smile brighter for the photo. Once the picture had been taken, you were helped down from the horse, who was quickly led away to be hosed down. Most of the entourage dispersed to follow Liam's Map back to the barn, save for Jerry.

"Listen kid, I got a call right after you crossed the finish line." he started, turning you to face him. "It was Tom Fletcher."

Your face paled. Tom Fletcher was the highest rated trainer in the American racing industry. "And what did he want?" you asked.

Jerry looked at you seriously. "He wants to put you on one of his older horses."

You scoffed in disbelief. "Bullshit."

"Do you think I'd lie to you, kid?" Jerry smirked.

You couldn't believe this was actually happening. To you! "When is this?"

"We still have to negotiate which race and pay cut, it's an ongoing conversation right now." said Jerry as you made your way to leave the track. "I'll be looking out for you, I always have."

"And I know you will." you responded. You did feel bad for somewhat manipulating his feelings towards you, but he was a 40-something, you were 21. He had no business in any relationship with you but a business relationship. Which was mainly successful due to his feelings. You unbuckled your helmet as you stepped out onto the jockey lane leading to the lounge, there were quite a few spectators lining the path even after the other jockeys had already passed through. You ambled down the way, stopping to take selfies and sign autographs for the little children. Female jockeys were few and far in between, let alone actually successful ones, so it was a treat for them to see you emerge from the winner's circle.

You were halfway down the path when you heard your name being called. You knew that voice anywhere, and spun around immediately to face the source. Søren was flagging you down from afar, making a spectacle of himself that marked him as, quite clearly, your number one fan. His enthusiasm was childlike, he jumped up and down despite being taller than most and very well able to see over the heads of the crowd. Your grin split your face in two, and you sprinted towards him, closing the gap by leaping onto him, your helmet falling off of your head. Søren, surprised, quickly caught you and spun you around, your hair coming free from its updo. He ran one hand through your hair and pulled you in for a passionate kiss. Your bottom lip slotted in his as your legs hooked around his hips, the whistles of the crowd sounding around you. You didn't care. You were covered in dirt, you smelled like horse, and your hair was still sticky with product. Søren didn't care. He kissed gently and slowly enough to say _I'm proud of you_ , but sucked on your lip with enough force to say _That was hot._

You broke apart and touched foreheads, nuzzled noses, and grinned at each other before he set you down. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jerry behind you. _Shit! Forgot about Jerry!_

"Oh! Jerry, this is Søren!" you hurriedly introduced. "He's my, uh-"

"Boyfriend! I'm her boyfriend." he affirmed, throwing an arm around your waist, pulling you alongside him. You guys never had the "what are we" conversation, it seemed inane to you, this was the first time either of you had given a name to your relationship. You were really glad Søren went ahead and did just now, it gave a nice tactical advantage for dealing with Jerry.

Jerry smiled, not quite up to his eyes, but extended his hand anyway, giving Søren's hand a firm shake. "Jerry Vasquez, Trevian Racing Associates. So this was the audience you mentioned, kid?"

You nodded. "This was how I decided to explain what I did for a living. He was quite shocked." you giggled, nudging Søren's side.

Jerry's smile faltered the slightest bit. "She's a real bundle of joy, ain't she?" he jestingly asked the Dane, before turning back to you. "I'll set up a meeting with Tom later this week. We'll be in touch." and he quickly turned on his heel, excusing himself.

Søren turned to face you. "Is he as into you as I think he is?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. It was very concerning, but also very sexy.

You bit your lip, debating whether it would be better to confirm it outright, or downplay the situation. But then, you quickly remembered that the best couples are the ones who don't go all _Encino Man_ , and actually have conversations with each other. You opted for the former.

"Yeah, he is." you confirmed. "It's a pretty sweet deal for me though, I mean, I'm a jockey now." you grinned.

Søren sighed. "If you say so." he pulled you face to face. "But he needs to understand that you're mine." he husked.

You tapped him on the nose. "Yessir!" you chirped.

"Good." he pecked your temple. "Andy wants to stay and watch the rest of the races, and I got the rest of the day off. What do you say we go out to dinner, my treat? Nicolaj won't shut up about this sushi joint on Pico, so maybe we could try that?" he proposed.

You grinned. "I think that sounds lovely. I just need 20 minutes to wash the horse stench off and tame my hair. And I just made two grand from that race, so I'm buying."

Søren rolled his eyes. "You win."


	12. Sweet Dreams and Flying Machines in Pieces on the Ground

You whined as you pressed the coldpack to your swollen cheek. "I hate being cold!" you exclaimed in frustration.

"It's your own problem for picking at your acne." Søren huffed from his bed, not looking up from his phone.

You whipped around to look at him. "Bitch, please. You spend half an hour in the bathroom every day dealing with your pizza face! I had just one fucking zit."

Your boyfriend scoffed. "And now you have a black eye."

"How do you even get a shiner from picking at acne?" you almost screeched. "My mom and I have been popping our own zits for years and this has never happened!"

"I'll have you know that I have never picked at a zit and I look perfect on camera every time." Søren finally looked up at you, smirking.

You sighed, too tired to deal with his shit. "I'm so tilted right now." You waddled over to the Dane's bed. "Søren, untilt me plox." you deadpanned, unceremoniously plopping your entire body on top of his.

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes, and then adjusted his position so his face was aligned with yours. "There, is your tilt gone yet?" he sarcastically asked.

You pursed your lips at him. "Maybe."

Søren quirked his eyebrow, and claimed your lips with his, sucking on your bottom lip and running his tongue on your teeth. "Now is it better?" he asked after he pulled away.

You shrugged. "Kind of?"

Søren groaned and flopped back on the bed. "Did you know you're fucking impossible?" he snarked.

"You lost to Phoenix1. _That_ was fucking impossible." you shot back with a grin.

The boy playfully shoved you off the bed. "Thanks asshole, now I'm tilted too."

You mock-clutched your heart. "Why you gotta be so ruuuuuude, Søren?" you whined, chucking the coldpack at his head.

"Fuck off, (You). I think Kevin has s'more Oreos in his room or something." he responded as his phone's Skype notification went off.

You perked up instantly. "Kevin has S'moreos and he didn't tell me? This is a crime against humanity!" you declared.

Søren waved his hand. "Yeah yeah, go get the goddamn Oreos. Daddy's busy right now." he turned back to his phone.

You snorted and skipped down the hall to Kevin's room. The door was cracked open. Kevin was at his computer playing American Truck Simulator. You tip-toed your way to his bed, where the open package of delicious s'more Oreo goodness lay. You delicately lay your hand on the package, as not to make a sound-

"The fuck are you doing with my Oreos?" Kevin whirled around to face you, catching you red handed.

"I- I- you can't just get S'moreos and not share them, Kevin!" you stammered. "That violates my constitutional rights."

Kevin was unimpressed, but you shoved an Oreo in your mouth anyway. He didn't respond, but turned back to his game. You craned your neck to peek over his shoulder at what he was doing.

"Cucking and trucking?" you asked.

Kevin nodded. "Mostly cucking." he replied. "I can't stop getting into accidents." The truck arrived in Stockton, at the end of the highway where there was a stoplight. Kevin didn't notice in time and rear ended into the line of cars ahead. "Motherfucker!" he cursed, throwing his hands up in the air.

You tutted at him. "You have to drive the speed limit, genius. That's how you don't get into accidents."

"But that's fucking boring!" said Kevin.

You rolled your eyes. "You wanna know what's boring? Getting camped top while everyone else teamfights. Slow down, buster."

Kevin moved to elbow you, but you dodged him, stuffing another Oreo in your face. For a while, you stood in silence, watching Kevin navigate the truck to the destination while occasionally popping another cookie in your mouth. The only sounds in the room were the low rumbles of the heavy diesel engine, and the crunching of the Oreos as you chewed.

Eventually, Kevin made it to his delivery dropoff. "Easy game, easy life." he mumbled, moving to end the delivery.

"You're not gonna even attempt to park?" you commented.

Kevin snorted. "Fuck that shit, too hard. You just end up ramming into everything and getting your pay docked."

You reached over his arm to press the "3" key, switching to the overhead view. "If you have this camera setting, you can watch how your trailer is moving. See how as you go in a circle, the trailer kinda goes like a hand on a clock?"

The top laner considered this. "Makes sense. What do I do with that?"

"You just do a shit ton of K-turns until you get closer and closer. You have to back crooked to end up parking straight. It just takes a lot of time."

After a few minutes of Kevin floundering around the lot, he finally got the popup that he could detach the trailer. "Niiiice!" he exclaimed, reaching around for the fistbump.

"TSM American Truck Simulator team." you said. "Better call Regi."

"Only if you coach." Kevin replied with a smile.

You groaned. "Too much responsibility. I'm ain't no goddamn babysitter."

Kevin pouted. "You can't let your memes remain memes."

You flipped him the middle finger and hustled out of there with the Oreos before he remembered to take them back. Making your way back to Søren's room, you opened the door to find your boyfriend staring blankly at his phone. He didn't seem to react when you came in. The room was eerily silent and cold. You quietly put the Oreos down and approached Søren cautiously, as if he were a wild deer who had just spotted you, ready to bolt at the faintest breath. You sat slowly in his desk chair, deliberately leaving space between you. You waited patiently for him to speak. He had never lashed at you before, but you felt tension coiling within him that would slice you at the lightest touch.

"That was my mom." Søren finally mumbled. He didn't look up from his phone or otherwise move.

You sucked in a breath. "Did she tell you anything?"

You noticed your boyfriend's lip tremble for a fleeting moment before he spoke. "They put Ozzy down today."

The news weighed heavily in your stomach. Ozzy was Søren's beloved wire-haired Dachshund, left behind in Denmark with his family. He hadn't seen the old dog since the winter, when he last visited. Søren loved to tell stories about him while you went for walks or laid your head in his lap. You whiled away hours flipping through dedicated photo albums on the Dane's phone. You both knew Ozzy was running out of time, as he was already blind and graying, but the thought that his very existence would ever cease was unfathomable. What was worse was that Søren wouldn't have been able to say goodbye, or look him in the eyes and rub his head as the wind left his lungs forever. Ozzy was just gone.

You wet your lips. "I'm sorry, Søren." you whispered. There was no platitude or other reassurance that ever worked when someone died. Words were empty and arguable. Apology and sympathy were the only response.

Søren did not move. "It's fine. I guess." he said, lip still barely quivering. He was holding back.

"Can I sit with you?" you asked his permission for comfort. He nodded tepidly, and you curled up next to him on the bed, resting your head on his shoulder, and your arms around his chest. His breathing was metered, stuttering as he attempted to control himself.

"Thi- this shouldn't be so hard." Søren stammered. "He's- I mean- was- just a dog. I don't know why I'm so upset."

You sighed. "Ozzy was your family. You're supposed to grieve when your family dies, Søren." you said, pulling the Dane's glasses off his face and moving them to a bedside stand so nothing would happen to them.

Søren sniffled, tightening his grip on the bedsheet. "I was supposed to be there. What kind of ass is halfway across the globe when you know someone's about to die?" he asked, rhetorically.

"You don't need to hide from me." you soothed, squeezing up and down his arms. The world isn't going to collapse if you stop trying to hold it up for a little while."

For the first time in his life, Søren was granted permission to be less than strong. His childhood was an endless plea to rise above his tormentors, and today he was expected to become the very best in his field. All at the age that you weren't even halfway through college. The first tears eked out from the corners of his eyes, and quiet moans issued from his lips. The boy slumped into you, crying out for his dog, his home, and his childhood. You tried your best to hold you both upright, swaying back and forth as his chest heaved. Muttered Danish slipped between breaths, breaths that became less and less consistent. You pressed your ear to his chest, and heard the shallowness in is lungs. Shallowness that was familiar and alarming. Quickly, you unhooked Søren's arms from around you, and moved to rustle around beneath his bed. Blindly rooting around, you searched until your fingers bumped against a tangle of rubber tubing, and traced the length of it to a hard, heavy box. Pulling it towards you, you hurried to plug the device into an outlet, and untangle the tube. Søren wasn't supposed to physically exert himself due to his asthma, and you hadn't realized being upset was that taxing. You loaded the medication into the nebulizer, and adjusted the settings just as he had shown you.

"I need you to breathe in for me." you directed as you slipped the cannula over his ears and into his nose. Søren did his best to inhale only through his nose, deeply and slowly. The nebulizer treatment wouldn't work immediately, but with any luck, it would keep him from needing his inhaler, or the ER. You returned to your previous position, trying to relax your boyfriend enough that he would be able to breathe, without trying to restrain his emotions. That would be a tough balance for him.

Søren nuzzled your face with his cheek. "Thank you." he murmured, kissing the side of your head.

"I had no idea-" you started.

He shushed you with a finger to your lips, which you kissed. "I didn't know either. This is the first time I've lost anyone close to me, I've never reacted to anything this way before." He looked away. "You didn't do anything wrong by getting me to break. I just need to make sure I keep my breathing in check the next time I get upset about something."

You sat like that for a while, the only sounds being the rhythmic whirring of the nebulizer and your breathing. Søren fell asleep after some time, and you gave up on supporting his weight, letting you both flop onto the bed. Between the warmth of your boyfriend's body and the white noise in the room, you began your own nap.

The sensation of gravity ceased to exist as you lifted your feet. In almost every dream, you had the power of flight. It was a way of having some semblance of control over the horrible things that you tended to see at night. You could just float away from whatever angry parent or fearsome beast appeared. Escape was easy. The one thing you could never seem to do is get anywhere.

She came to you every night. Always in blue. Never in reach. Every time she visited, you fell to earth, your body numbed and went limp, and you tried to scream, but no air filled your lungs. When she would fade away, you would find your voice, and wail in absolute agony. All your energy would go into crying out for her to come back in desperation. The only word on your lips was her name.

The sensation of your flailing arms hitting the wall behind you awakened you, the painful caterwauling of your nightmare translating into a strangled whimper in the waking world. You were firmly grounded to earth, and you were sorely alone in the room. You had sweat through your clothes in a febrile episode, as per usual when you napped without your sedative. Peeling the damp, rapidly cooling fabric from your skin, you remembered that the reason you had fallen asleep in the first place was that Søren was here with you. The nebulizer's whirring had ceased, the tubing of the cannula was a tangled mess. The Danish boy was nowhere to be seen. Eyes adjusting to the much-darkened room, you peeked out of the cracked open door, but no luck.

"The fuck did you give Søren?" you heard Vincent yell down the hall, noticing your head popping out from his room. "He's really freaking out right now. Like, really freaking out." he continued, a strange expression on his face.

You swallowed hard and frowned. "He did a nebulizer treatment and then we both fell asleep, he wasn't there when I woke up just now. Define freaking out for me?" you asked.

Vincent inhaled through his teeth. "Yeah, you should just go watch him." he gestured down the stairs. You jogged downstairs and found Søren wandering around the living room. And then your heart broke.

"Ozzy?" the Danish boy called out to the empty room. "Ozzy, c'mere boy!" he cooed, ducking to search under the couch. "Where ya hiding buddy? Don't hide from me!" the expression on his face was one of excitement, sharply contrasting the one he wore earlier that evening. He stood up, finally noticing you and Vincent. "Hey, I can't find Ozzy, did you guys see where he went?" he asked, his face contorting into confusion when he saw the horrified expressions you both had.

Vincent turned to look at you, clearly confused due to lack of context for the situation. You held out your hand, tacitly signaling him to remain silent. "Hey Søren, do you remember what we talked about before you fell asleep?"

Søren shook his head. "No, but did you see Ozzy?" You cast your eyes downward. For months after your own dog died, you continued to go to where his bed once lay, looking to play with him. Even though you were there for his final moments, the subconscious part of you that was so used to having him there whenever you wanted took a long time to stop habitually searching him out every few hours. The next few months were not going to be easy for Søren.

"Your mom skyped you today. Ozzy died." you stated calmly.

Søren's face fell, and it destroyed you. "Oh." he murmured. "You're right." You could feel your boyfriend physically crumble inside. Feeling other people's pain was something you had always been plagued with. It was overwhelming.

Vincent awkwardly chewed his lip as Søren utterly broke before him, feeling powerless as to what to do with himself in this predicament. "Come on, Søren." you soothed, putting an arm around him (you're too short to reach his shoulder). "Let's go back to bed." You turned back to Vincent as you herded the taller boy back to the stairs. "Not a fucking word to Reginald." you instructed. "He's not exactly tactful." The support nodded in agreement. Søren mindlessly moved where you pushed him, feet barely lifting enough to clear each step on the staircase.

Søren awoke five more times that night, roaming the house by only the light of the moon, balefully crying out for his departed dog. Five times did you corral him back to his bed, gently reminding him that Ozzy was not here, that only his memory remained. Five times did you run your fingers through his hair as he cried himself to fitful sleep, until the sun rose and he finally rested. You did not return to sleep that night. You kept vigil over your tormented boyfriend, waiting for him to awaken once again in case someone else caught him searching for his dog. At least that's what you told yourself. For as long as you did not submit to sleep, the woman in blue would never visit you. You would remain silent that night, you would not reach out for her, you would not scream her name as Søren called out for Ozzy. For as long as you hoped to know him, you knew that he could never hear you utter her name, or he, too, would share her fate.

So you trained your focus upon his face, and waited for him to rise.


	13. I Will Never End Up Like Him, Behind My Back I Already Am

"I declare this meeting of the Dane Squad open!" announced Nicolaj, ceremoniously knocking his Heineken against the tabletop to pop the cap. The small group whooped in unison and simultaneously took swigs of their own beers. Except you, who raised your Allagash White, because Heineken was god awful and you refused to drink that shit. Søren looked extremely offended when you insisted on bringing your own 6-pack over to the Echo Fox house, but you reminded him that Dennis and Nicolaj would likely be too drunk to give a shit, and that Froggen- well, Henrik now- was Froggen, and wouldn't give a shit regardless. Nobody had batted an eyelash.

"Tell me why we let her come again?" asked Dennis, already quite inebriated, despite only having been drinking for about half an hour.

"Bjerg needs a babysitter." Henrik replied. "We're not letting him get smashed unsupervised again." This elicited a collective groan from the group. Apparently, the last Dane Squad meeting had involved a very drunk Søren trying to drive Meteos's car. It was then agreed that somebody stayed relatively sober from then on.

You snorted. "Typical underage pleb." You took a swig. "Tryhards whenever booze is offered."

Søren wheeled around to face you. "No, it's fucking stupid that people in this country are allowed to vote, but not drink. There's no logic in that." The boys _hmmmed_ in agreement.

You rolled your eyes. "Number one, you can't vote anyway, you're Eurotrash." Everyone around you shot you a dirty look. You didn't care. "And number two, if doctors had their way, nobody would drink until they were 25, when your brain finishes developing. 21 is a compromise age."

"This is why Denmark is better than NA." Nicolaj mused, finishing his beer.

"Why did you come here again?" you wondered aloud, pointedly.

Nicolaj's face dropped. "Oh yeah." He gestured at Henrik with his empty bottle. "Toss me another." Henrik obliged. Søren reached for the cooler himself, but you threw an arm across his chest.

"Jesus Christ, dude, finish the one you have first. The fuck's wrong with you?" you admonished your boyfriend.

Henrik shrugged. "See? Absolutely no tolerance." he stated.

You suddenly remembered something. "Isn't Santorin Danish?" you asked. Everyone got quiet very quickly.

"We don't talk about him." Dennis murmured. The rest of the boys chewed on their bottom lips awkwardly. You opted to change the subject.

"Let's play a game!" you suggested. Noises of agreement echoed around the yard. A fresh round of beers passed around, and the group gathered in a circle.

"What are we playing?" asked Dennis.

Nicolaj pursed his lips. "Spin the Bottle?" he suggested. This earned a round of giggles from everyone.

"You would suggest spin the bottle, Jensen." snarked Søren.

"Too bad Sneaky's not Danish!" quipped Dennis. Nicolaj stuck out his tongue and wiggled his eyebrows.

"How about Truth or Dare?" you chipped in.

Nicolaj frowned. "Nah, it always ends up being all truth or all dares."

"Why don't we play Never Have I Ever?" offered Henrik.

Nicolaj's grin split his face. "Oh _fuck_ yeah!" he roared. Dennis hollered, rather tipsy at this point. You noticed Søren press his lips into a hard line, but otherwise agree to the game.

"You go first." he nudged the blonde.

Henrik groaned. "What the fuck, man? Why do I have to go first?" he whined.

You shrugged. "You are the host. Common courtesy." you smirked.

Henrik sighed exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes. "Never have I ever had sex in a public place." You, Nicolaj, and Dennis all took a swig of your beers. Søren's jaw dropped.

"Dude! What the hell!" he exclaimed.

You smirked at him. "Backseat of my car in my complex driveway. Though, does oral count as sex though?" you asked generally.

"Yep!" affirmed Nicolaj, popping the "p".

Your boyfriend's face sank into his hands. "Jesus Christ." he muttered. Everyone else laughed. Eventually, Henrik nudged Søren for his turn. "Do I even want to know what devious shit you've been up to?" he questioned you.

You grinned dastardly. "Whatever gets your penis pumping." The boys hooted and hollered, and Søren reddened to the color of his country's flag.

"You're nasty." slurred Dennis.

You crinkled your eyebrows. "What? I'm a medical professional!" you defended.

"Yeah, barely." grumbled Søren.

You slapped his arm. "Will you fucking play the goddamn game already?" you urged.

Søren raised his free hand in defeat. "Never have I ever..." he paused, drawing out the "r" in a sexy croak. "-cheated on my girlfriend." Only Nicolaj drank this time, raising his middle finger. "What, you have something to say?" Søren challenged, raising his arms.

"Yes, actually. Never have I ever spanked it to anime porn." Your boyfriend muttered a "goddammit" before taking a drink, alongside Henrik and yourself.

Dennis giggled. "At least you two have common interests."

"I'm just shocked that Henrik of all people watches anime porn while you and Nicolaj don't." said Søren. "That defies all logic."

"My turn! My turn!" Dennis giddily announced, clapping his hands like an excitable child. It was obvious that he had taken drinks between rounds. "Never have I ever eaten a girl out." You raised your beer in a "cheers" before drinking along with Nicolaj and Henrik.

Søren's beer clattered to the ground. "Y-you and a _girl?!_ " he stammered. You nodded, cheeks pinking. Your boyfriend sat there in utter shock, mouth agape. No attempt to rouse him would break his trance.

"This is a level of skankdom I did not expect from you." Nicolaj almost sang, completely trashed at this point.

"You're one to talk." you spat. "We're tied this game, if I recall correctly."

Nicolaj sniggered. "But I'm not the one dating sweet, innocent Søren."

"Guys, come on-" Henrik attempted to intervene.

"Are you sure you aren't a _little_ much for him?" hissed Nicolaj, fixing his icy blue eyes upon you, a crocodile's grin on his smarmy face.

Oh, it was _on_. You were gonna blow this shit wide open. The benefit of going last was that you had time to concoct the perfect strategy to pierce him right in the heart, and teach him never to dish out what he couldn't take. If he wanted a shitshow, he was sure as hell gonna get it.

"Never have I ever slept with my teammate." you announced in a strong, confident tone.

 _Boom_. It was all over for Nicolaj. As soon as he drank of course. But Nicolaj never drank. Nicolaj's eyes moved to another point in the circle. You tracked his gaze and, instead, found only Søren polishing off his beer. He shattered the bottle on the ground, and hustled into the house.

 _Oh shit, what the fuck did you just do._ You frantically looked around the circle, to find everyone else looking at you in horror.

"Will someone explain what the _fuck_ just happened here?" you shrieked. The boys all averted their eyes, as if they knew the answer.

"That- wasn't supposed to happen." sputtered Nicolaj, suddenly quite sober.

"Gee, thanks for the _groundbreaking_ discovery, Captain Obvious." you hollered. "You were supposed to drink! You and Zach are butt pirates!"

"That's _Hai_ , you idiot!" Nicolaj wailed, hands exasperatedly on his head. "Why do you think he has girls hanging off him like a goddamn clothesline? He wears _glittery eyeshadow_ , for fuck's sake! Bunny only took one step in the doorway before getting on his ass!"

Your hands flew to your face, stretching your skin down. "Oh my God, I fucked up." you deadpanned. Thankfully, nobody was tactless enough to respond to that. "But what did Søren do?" you timidly asked. Again, everyone cast their gaze everywhere but you.

"You should ask him yourself." Dennis quietly responded after a while.

Shakily, you eased yourself from your seat, and took wobbly steps into the house, the alcohol blurring your vision some. Stumbling around the dim kitchen, you discovered Søren slumped over a counter top. Well, more like smacked into the edge of said counter top and cursed loudly, but you did find him.

"I fucked up." you exhaled after a minute.

"No, I did." Søren murmured, not moving from his position.

You looked up at him. "I exposed you to everyone."

"The only one who learned anything new was you." replied Søren. "Everyone else knew everything already. Well, I only told Josh, and then Nicolaj, but he can't keep his mouth shut, so I told him to keep it within the other Danes."

"I'm not mad, Søren." you tried to reassure him, putting your hand on his shoulder. "I'm just confused, s'all." you slurred.

Your boyfriend worried his lower lip with his teeth. "Last season, me and Santorin...tried some stuff." he breathed. You knew better than to react immediately. "He felt confused about himself after, and he had a really bad identity crisis. Our communication broke down, and his gameplay tanked. We agreed to keep the whole thing a secret. The cover story was that he wanted to retire so he could go back to school." he paused. "It was really because it was too awkward for us to be in the same house anymore. I was expecting to just move on, but then he showed up in the EU CS a couple months later. People started to wonder why he took a 10-minute retirement after being rookie of the split, and went to a shit tier team. Then he came to NA and now someone could figure it out at any time." he finished.

"That's why Santorin doesn't hang out with you guys anymore." you filled in the blank.

"I didn't want you to know." Søren whispered.

You pulled his face up to look at you, using everything you could to look right into his eyes "None of that makes me think anything less of you." you affirmed. "I want you and I to be able to talk about things, but I understand that this is difficult for you- for _anyone_ to talk about, and I'm proud of you." You pressed your face to his. His breath was warm on your cheek. "Everything you felt before, and still feel now is okay and not wrong. You don't really care that you're the first boy I've ever dated, do you?"

"I'm fine with you liking girls." replied Søren. You tangled yourself up in his limbs, trying to mesh your cells with his if you could.

"The boxes we put ourselves in when we decide who and what we like are awfully stupid, Søren. People forget that everyone is just a little bit different from anyone else. It's just so much easier to say 'You're not my type' when someone asks you out, yeah?"

"But what is my type? I don't know?" Søren wondered. You giggled, kissing his nose.

"You don't have to know, silly! It's different and unique for everyone. You'll just know when you meet someone. Feel your type, Søren, don't waste time putting an asinine label on it." you explained. You felt Søren smile against you.

"You are my type." he whispered, finally claiming your lips. Søren pinned you to the counter, pulling your lower lip into his teeth as you threaded your fingers into his short but thick hair. His hands wandered down to your hips, into the back pockets of your cutoff shorts. Finding purchase there, he hoisted you onto the counter top, so you were level with him. Your legs hooked around his waist, shoving him closer as you stopped just kissing and started making out. You used your tongue to tickle the sensitive ridges on the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth. Søren squeaked out some muffled gasps in response to this. You were less experienced in kissing since he was the one with the long term girlfriend before you. However, when both of you were moderately intoxicated, the tendency to judge for sloppiness was lessened.

Long, spindly fingers wound their way around the fabric of your shirt at your shoulder blades, balling up into fists behind you. The smacking of your lips coming open and shut became progressively louder as you fervently tangled tongues and clashed teeth. It was somewhat of a contest to see who could inhale the other. The longer you made out, the greater your sense of euphoria increased. You felt, sexy, addicted, free. There was nothing else but Søren, his lips, his tongue. You needed him bad, it tingled in your core, the urge to jump him here and now. But that could never happen. As much as your body screamed to tear off his clothes and fuse yourself to him, there was still one more obstacle. And just as quickly as it began, it ended. You froze, disconnected from his face.

"Hey, what's wrong?" asked Søren, suddenly very concerned. You were very thankful that he was attuned to you as he was, reading every little twitch of your nerve.

"I just- I didn't want to start anything I wasn't ready to finish." you stuttered. Your boyfriend visibly relaxed, backing away to better look at you.

"I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm pretty tanked right now. I can't exactly hoist the flag at the moment." he awkwardly confessed.

You sighed in relief. "But, y'know, we can always talk about this stuff." you continued. "Like, if there's something you wanna try, just, y'know, say something? And we can maybe try it if it's something we're both comfortable with?" Jesus, that was awkward.

Søren grinned toothily. "I thought you were supposed to be a medical professional." he jeered.

You snorted. "Barely." you echoed him from earlier. You looped your arms around is neck and kissed him lazily once more. As you broke apart, you heard the door clatter.

"Søren, goddammit, you better not be fucking your girl in our kitchen!" Henrik shouted across the room.

"No, Henrik, we're fucking in your bed!" you quipped back. This made Søren start laughing uncontrollably.

"You fucking what, mate?" cried Henrik.

"We're coming back out now, keep your shirt on!" called Søren, helping you down from the counter. Upon your rejoining the party, you were met with whistles and whoops from the assembled boys.

"Calm your tits, people, what the fuck do you think we were doing?" you asked. Nicolaj and Dennis had odd looks on their faces, odd, but knowing.

"Did you make sure to save the cummies?" Nicolaj blurted out. Søren found this highly amusing for some reason.

"She totally cucked me dude! You gotta hurry up and suck me off before my balls explode!" he jested. A new round of laughs sounded around the yard, save for Nicolaj, whose cheeks pinked.

You turned to look at your boy, and he turned to look at you. And here, a moment forged in the flame of old flames and old shames, the steel bond between you was plunged into the cool night air and strengthened into an unbreakable force. Your hands found each other in the darkness, and you stood solid again.


	14. I'm Selfish as Selfish Comes, You're Giving Me a Run for My Money, Honey

The muffled dialogue of the movie droned on in the background as you lay in a state somewhere in between a nap and total relaxation. You and Søren had popped over to Hai's new house for a movie night. Hai was cuddled up on one couch with Michael, with the taller boy wrapped almost all the way around him. On the other couch, Søren's legs stretched all the way to Hai's thrift store coffee table, and you laid with your head in his lap. Your boyfriend's fingers rhythmically combed through your hair, lulling you into a sense of security you didn't normally have around new people (Michael), and new places (new house with expensive furniture). When you first got here, you had been unsettled, not having spoken more than three words to Michael before, and knowing what you knew now about his relationship status. Thankfully, Søren almost immediately introduced Hai and Michael as a couple, and you hurriedly promised you wouldn't mention the relationship to anyone else. Clearly, the ex-support had been very nervous about it, because his relief was visible.

"It's not that I mind people knowing, because I'm pretty flagrant." Hai had explained, reaching up to peck Michael's lips. "It's more that Cloud 9 minds people knowing. Teammates dating would definitely compromise the reputation of the org, y'know? But I think it's good for Bunny here to be around someone comfortable in his own skin, right, hun?"

Michael blushed, feeling small around the shorter boy. "You're not wrong." he affirmed, melting into his boyfriend's embrace.

And here you all were now, happily parked in front of Team America: World Police (Søren had never seen it, so it was unanimously agreed upon that it would be rectified post-haste), with you under Hai's very favorite quilt. It was very warm and pleasant. For the most part. Your belly was roiling again, with perfect timing as usual. You didn't know how to describe Irritable Bowel Syndrome to Søren without blushing, so you told him "My body likes to spam ANELE in its Twitch chat" to quote yourself directly.Søren didn't press any further, and you didn't wish to extrapolate. It was the best outcome of the conversation.

You shifted, trying to find wherever that blanket wasn't covering you and close the gap. You were one of those people who would shiver with chattering teeth under three layers of clothing if only a square inch of skin were exposed. Hai had way too many windows open for 10:45 at night, this week had seen lows in the upper 50s, and you were always the first to get cold. But you weren't about to ask Hai to close any. Autism social anxiety took that option off the table, so you simply decided to shuffle around until you adequately covered yourself.

"What's all the fuss about, little bit?" Søren crooned, half asleep himself.

"I'm tryna' get jus' righ'." you slurred in your drowse.

Søren rolled his eyes. "Alright, dear." he replied sarcastically, yet, affectionately. You settled on turning over to nestle your face into his stomach, inhaling the scent of his hoodie. The commotion was enough to rouse Hai from his own wonderland across the room. He looked up inquisitively and raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Søren mouthed "bellyache" and silently gestured to you. Hai wordlessly snuggled back into Michael's chest and closed his eyes. Michael happily kissed the top of his head and hummed.

 _They are absolutely adorable together_ thought Søren, looking down at- wait. Hang on.

_She's on her left side._

Within weeks of personally knowing you, Søren had learned quite a bit about how your stomach issues would manifest themselves. Your biggest tell was when you would grimace in pain and clutch your left side, just above your hip bone. It always felt like something was constricting your innards at that spot, a searing tightness that made you feel like your body would rip at the seam. You were never able to run for long because that spot would always act up immediately. And when you flared, you would always stay off your left side. The heavy bloating in that area was too painful to put pressure on. It was always the same, consistent, like his Zilean games. Checking again, Søren noticed you had fallen asleep. Pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, he wasn't surprised to find heated skin, you suffered from night sweats. Except your skin was perfectly dry.

"Hai!" whisper-shouted Søren across the room, as not to disturb you. The occupants of the other couch jolted to attention. "Her bellyache's on the wrong side."

"She's probably on her period." suggested Hai.

"Oh my God, Hai, nobody wants to hear about your fucking man-period. It's not the same." groaned Michael.

Hai _tsked_. "Well, I'm just saying, I understand it."

"Are you supposed to get a fever when you're on your period, though?" asked Søren.

Hai frowned. "No, that doesn't sound normal at all. Is she okay?"

Søren gently carded his fingers through your hair. "She seems different. She never does different." He reached down to carefully rub your stomach, which you enjoyed. The second he pressed his hand into your side, the sensation of a blade came across where he touched you. It felt like you were being sliced open. You screamed in agony, rolling away from Søren and off the couch. Your boyfriend flung his hands skyward. "I barely touched her!" he asserted. Hai and Michael rose from their seat, the movie forgotten.

Hai's hand went to clasp your shoulder. "Hey, I need to touch your stomach again, is that okay?" he asked gently. You bit your lip and nodded. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes already. Slowly, Hai pressed his hand to your stomach, and the keen sensation slashed across you once again. Your shriek was so loud that Michael covered his ears.

Hai winced. "Your stomach feels as hard as a rock. How did that feel when I touched you?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"That was the worst thing I've ever felt in my life." you shouted angrily.

"I know this is hard, but can you describe the pain?" Hai was trying to keep his voice even.

"Like I'm being cut open from hip to hip." you responded.

Hai grimaced. "Yeah, that doesn't sound like a regular stomachache."

"That sounds like an appendix." interrupted Michael. All three men looked at each other with concern. Søren put two and two together in his head for a minute, before gingerly scooping you up in his arms.

"We have to go to the hospital." he declared.

"Noooooo, no hospital." you whined.

"Yes, we're going now." affirmed Søren.

You shook your head. "It's just IBS, it'll go away." you protested.

"You have a fever." Hai put in. "You have to go. It'll be fine, I promise."

You felt like a hypochondriac going to a doctor. Nobody ever believed you when you tried to tell them about the way your body rebelled against you, the convinced you that it was all just in your head. You didn't want to waste another doctor's time. You opened your mouth to argue, but you and Søren were already out the door and loading into the backseat of Hai's car. The Dane buckled you both in, you laying once again across his lap. The car was very cold, and you shivered. Thankfully, you were still wrapped in the blanket, and Søren rubbed your arms vigorously. The car started moving, disorienting you some, as you weren't used to riding in the car like this, where you couldn't see out the window. Michael muted the car radio, setting the GPS on his phone to the university hospital. The only other noises you heard were the rumbling of the engine and the whirring of the wheels. Before you knew it, you were blinded by the interior car lights as Søren lifted you out of the backseat and carried you into the way-too-bright ER lobby. A wheelchair was immediately produced by a nearby tech, and you winced as you were lowered into the seat.

"I think it's her appendix." Søren announced to the employee, worry entering his voice for the first time. The word "appendix" was enough for the tech's eyes to widen and immediately wheel you straight to triage. The nurse waiting inside wasted no time popping a thermometer in your mouth.

"She has a fever of 103. Send her straight to priority bay two, we might not have time for registration paperwork here." The nurse was half out the door with your wheelchair before she could finish her sentence, and Søren had to speedwalk to keep up. He quickly grabbed hold of your hand.

"I'm not leaving. If that's what you want." he reassured.

"Don't go." you peeped out.

You were whisked into a priority bay, and you had the nurses tearing at your clothes to get a gown on. Søren, just now realizing what was going on, comically turned around until you called for his attention.

"You wanna give me a hand with this?" you asked.

Your boyfriend blushed. "A-are you sure about that?" he stammered awkwardly. _Not the fucking time, Søren._

"I trust you more than I trust them." you assured.

Søren took a deep breath and sat beside you on the bed. Delicately, he lifted your shirt up and over your head, helping you raise your arms. The simple motion hurt. You could tell Søren was trying really hard not to look at you in just a bra. Not that there was much there to see, anyway. Taking each arm, he worked the gown over you, tying the back where you couldn't reach. Now that you were covered, he unclasped the bra (after fumbling blindly for a bit) and pulled it from under the gown. It hurt you to lift your hips, but he managed to get the sweatpants off without too much hassle.

"Huh, not so bad." he mused when you were appropriately dressed. A woman in a lab coat entered the room.

"I'm Dr. Westmeyer." she introduced herself. "I see that you have a high fever and stomach pain?"

"It's probably just my IBS." you dismissed.

The doctor looked at Søren, and then you. "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"

Søren lept away from you like you had the plague. "I've _never!_ " he squeaked, unable to speak further.

"I've never actually been sexually active with any men." you clarified. "You can do a pregnancy test if you want, but it's going to be negative. And I'm not just saying this because my boyfriend's here." you looked at Søren going red in the face.

Dr. Westmeyer's eyes narrowed. "Alright, I'm going to have to palpitate your stomach." Without further warning, the doctor swiftly prodded around your abdomen, making your yelp each time her hand met your skin. Søren winced, and quickly moved to squeeze your hand, strumming this thumb over your knuckles. "The whole right side of your abdomen is inflamed." she announced. "Given that an ectopic pregnancy is out of the question, and your fever is so high, I'm almost positive you've got appendicitis. It's likely the appendix blockage is due to your IBS."

"So she needs surgery?" Søren timidly asked.

Dr. Westmeyer nodded. "We're going to do a laparoscopic procedure that is less invasive and shouldn't scar so much. Just taking out the appendix and closing up. The whole procedure should be over and done with in about an hour."

Søren exhaled in relief, patting your hand. "Good thing we came here then." he smiled warmly.

"How long before I can ride again?" you asked.

The doctor did some mental math. "About 4 weeks is common for most sports."

You groaned exaggeratedly. "God fucking dammit."

Søren turned your head to face him. "Hey, you'll be fine if you rest."

"We're going to start an IV sedative for you in here, you'll start to feel tired, but you won't be out until we push the anesthesia in the OR. We'll be coming to get you as soon as we can." The doctor exited.

You flopped back against the pillow. "I hate my life."

Søren scooted closer as a nurse quietly began to insert an IV line into the back of your hand. "It happens. There's nothing you can do about it other than resting. It will be okay." he kissed your head. You wriggled to one side as an invitation for him to join you on the bed. Carefully, he arranged himself beside you, masterfully avoiding your right side. He was halfway off the bed, but he didn't seem to care, he just started playing with your hair like you were at home.

"You should call up Hai and see if he's still nearby. He should take you home." you suggested.

Your boyfriend shook his head. "I'm not gonna leave you here."

The sedative was starting to put you back to a tired state, but you persisted. "You have practice and shit. You have a team."

"The team isn't having surgery." countered Søren, kissing your hair.

"What would Regi say about that?"

A snort. "Regi would probably be the first one here if he knew."

You sighed in defeat. "I cannot keep coming between you and your team like this."

"You aren't." Søren replied. "You make me better."

"But what about all those people who have to break up because they aren't focused?"

Søren's fingers moved to your cheek. "Those are just stories, little bit. Real people don't act like that. Real people live full lives, fall in love, and have jobs too. David Beckham has a wife and kids, you know."

You laughed once. "To me, this is a fairy tale."

Your boyfriend grinned. "And the best part is, there doesn't have to be an ending." He kissed your lips incredibly gently, just a brush.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor, and Søren jolted back to his chair beside your bed. He didn't want a nurse to chew him out.

"Alright, we're going to take you to the OR now." announced a nurse in full scrubs.

Søren leaned over to kiss your forehead. "I'll be waiting when you wake up."

The sedative was starting to make your head spin. You were dizzy, yet relaxed. Is this what intoxication feels like? "G'night, Søren." you slurred, as if you were just taking a nap.

"I love you." he murmured as you were wheeled away. You didn't get to hear it though. Dr. Westmeyer met you in the operating room, and introduced you to the staff, not like it mattered, because within a few seconds, you were out. You did not dream, and the blue lady was nowhere to be found. It was peaceful, truly restful. The first thing you felt were some far away voices calling your name.

"Wha..." you sputtered. Your eyelids felt heavy, although you were definitely awake.

"Hey, it's over now. They're finished." That voice was Søren. You felt him caress your cheek.

You grunted a response. You couldn't see anything around you, nor could you feel any pain. Probably from the anesthesia. "So I'm gonna be fine now?"

"Yep, you have to stay here one more night and then you can go home."

"Jesus, you're gonna have to go back to the team, you can't stay that long, Søren." Even in your exhaustion you knew that much.

You couldn't see him, but you knew he was sadly nodding. "Hai and Bunny will be happy to hang out with you, I know it."

Selfishly, you didn't want him to leave. Straining against the weight of your eyelids, you opened your eyes to a blurry and bright recovery room. You could just make out Søren's smile as you focused on him. "There you are." you murmured, your own smile splitting your face now.

"There you are." replied Søren, kissing you sweetly on the lips.

Carefully, and now a little painfully, you shuffled over to the other side of the bed, leaving room for Søren to lay against your left side. "Come snuggle with me." you pleaded, like a child asking their mother for just one more bedtime story.

Your boyfriend briefly pondered the consequences of doing this, and then quickly decided to fuck them, and draped himself next to you. Your hair was all over the place, there was a nasal cannula around your face, and you smelled strongly of antiseptic. And neither of you wanted to be anywhere else.


	15. Two Eggs Don't Last Like the Feeling of What He Needs

The door slammed shut behind Søren as he stomped outside to the loading dock. He'd seen Stixxay sneak out this way to smoke a joint a couple days before, and while Søren didn't - well, couldn't really, unless he wanted to die of an asthma attack - smoke, he needed the air. The disappointment was choking him. He was supposed to carry it home in groups, and today he was Atlas shrugging. Rubbing his temples, he pulled out his phone for about the seventeenth time today, and dialed favorite contact number 3.

_"Hi, you have reached (You)! I'm not available at the moment - so leave a voice-"_ the phone clicked as Søren ended the call. Leaving a seventeenth voicemail would be pretty pointless. You'd promised to watch every single game. Søren's voicemail had been full after the Samsung game last week, all by you. A striking difference today. If Søren could spam the MIA ping in real life, he'd drop a million yellow question marks all along Jefferson Boulevard. He wanted to scream and punch the wall. He wanted to wail in agony. He wanted to be _held, dammit._ But when he needed you most, you vanished. And he didn't know whether to hate you or worry. So he slumped against the cool brick wall and sunk down. The sounds of traffic and a reversing tractor-trailer bounced off the walls. Fog rolled across the rooftops. And Søren could almost taste the San Francisco evening.

A _clunk_ sounded behind him as Impact strode out into the loading bay, a lighter and a pack of Vietnamese cigarettes in hand. The top laner gave a little wave as he popped one in his mouth, sheltering the Zippo from the wind as he lit up. Søren thrust his chin at him and grimaced as Impact took a deep drag and puffed a ring of smoke. He never understood why so many of the Koreans he knew smoked. Søren couldn't hang around the Liquid house, the place reeked because Piglet and FeniX were absolute chimneys, and he was guaranteed an attack if he was there more than 5 minutes. Thankfully, Josh was always happy to be elsewhere when they hung out. The acrid scent of Impact's exhaling was starting to get to him, so Søren took it as his cue to sulk elsewhere.

"Night." he muttered as he turned to head back into the convention center.

Impact removed his cigarette. "I'm sorry." he replied, a sympathetic look on his features. Søren stopped a moment to acknowledge his apology. "You play good." he continued. That a world champion who played alongside almighty Faker would say anything to him meant something. The look on his face told him that there was so much more he wanted to tell him, but he didn't have the English to express. Søren gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

"Thank you, _Annyeong._ " he responded in the Korean that Lustboy had taught him so long ago. Impact flashed his teeth as Søren made his way back inside, taking a deep breath of the non-smoky air. How odd that Impact of all people said something to him and not you, or Josh, or Hai, or - Hai! Maybe Hai knew why you had gone radio silent. Since the appendoctomy, you had been closer to him, and since he had stayed behind, he'd be some company while Søren was occupied with worlds. Scrolling through his contacts, he dialed favorite number 2.

_"You have reached Hai Lam, Director of eSports at Cloud 9-" click._ Where in the hell was everybody today? Hai was a busy guy, but what was he doing that his phone had to be totally off? A frustrated sigh escaped Søren's lips as he trudged off towards his team room to gather his peripherals. As he rounded the corner, he smacked straight into Smoothie.

"Shit- I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention." he apologized.

"You're good dude." said Smoothie. "I can understand." Søren didn't talk to Smoothie too often, but he wished he could. He had an incredibly soothing demeanor, not common in this field. And right about now, it was a tall drink of water.

"Well, it's more that my girlfriend won't pick up the damn phone, and Hai of all people turned his phone off. It's just not the fucking time for that." complained Søren.

Smoothie's eyebrows arched. "I've been trying to get a hold of Hai all day for strategic planning. he's never _not_ picked up before, and I'm pretty freaked out."

"You? Freaked out?" Søren chortled.

Smoothie scoffed. "I am allowed to freak out, contrary to popular belief."

"Can't you just call Bunny?" asked Søren.

"That dumbass would just tell me to play Veigar support and run ignite." groaned Smoothie.

"I meant because they're fucking, maybe he knows where Hai went." clarified Søren with an eyebrow quirk.

"I don't think Hai ignored my calls all day to ride Bunny's dick."

"Oh my God, I didn't mean _right now,_ I meant in general, you dipshit." the Dane facepalmed.

"Jesus Christ, alright, I'll call him. Stop spending so much time with Yensen." the support muttered, pulling out his phone to dial Bunny's number.

_"Ayy."_ the deep voice of Michael Kurylo crackled to life.

"Oh God, finally. Bunny, do you know where Hai is? We can't get a hold of him, we really need to do a rundown of strategy because TSM just got knocked out, and his phone has been off all day."

A pause. _"Yeah, I'll tell him you called. I'm on my way to the hospital right now and I'll see him then."_

Søren and Smoothie exchanged a quizzical look. "Hospital? Is he ok?"

Another pause. _"Shit."_ then a dial tone. Smoothie's face dropped.

"God fucking dammit."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

_"The blockage that led to the appendicitis was an external adhesion, not an intestinal obstruction like most commonly occurs." Dr. Westmeyer read her surgical notes. "You actually had a total rupture by the time you went into surgery. The adhesion contained the necrotic tissue, which delayed your symptom progression."_

_"What kind of adhesion?" you inquired. "I thought the IBS caused the blockage?"_

_Dr. Westmeyer was stoic. "I don't think you have IBS. Your adhesion was uterine tissue."_

_"I have endometriosis?" you asked._

_"Stage 4." confirmed the doctor. "You had uterine lining growing all over your abdominal cavity. That's likely the cause of all your gastrointestinal symptoms."_

_Your face quivered. "So now what do I do?" Søren had left, replaced by Hai and Michael, who switched off spending time with you. Hai had stepped out so you could talk to the doctor in private._

_Dr. Westmeyer removed her reading glasses. "We can do birth control to stop your period, which will hopefully stop new adhesions from forming and reduce your symptoms. If you were older, I would have recommended a hysterectomy, depending on-"_

_"I want a hysterectomy." you interrupted._

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"You're leaving?" asked Dennis as Søren shoved his peripherals hastily into his backpack.

"I'm on the next flight to Los Angeles. Hai's in the hospital." he explained.

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know. That's why I have to go right away."

"Did you get to talk to (You)?"

Søren swallowed. "She's not picking up the phone." Dennis furrowed his brow.

"Strange." He gave Søren a brisk hug. "Take care of yourself."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

_"A hysterectomy is invasive, and there's still a lot we can try for childbearing-"_

_"So I can't have a hysterectomy because I'm too young to know what I want?" you challenged._

_The doctor swallowed. "If you have a hysterectomy, there's no way to reverse it. We would have to open you up from bellybutton to pelvis. And you haven't even had the chance to discuss this issue with your partner. I see 23-year-olds like you change their minds about having children all the time, trust me, it's better we try medication first."_

_"I'm autistic. I won't let anyone touch me because I have a pregnancy phobia. There is no way that it would ever be healthy for me to become pregnant, not now, not ever. I have lived in pain and fear for years now. And you have the nerve to tell me that I have to live in pain and fear for- what- 10, 15 more years, on the off chance I or my boyfriend might want to have the 'pregnancy experience' someday? Why can't I make a choice about what happens to my own body?"_

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Anything for you to drink, sir?" the flight attendant asked Søren.

"Nothing for me, thank you." he dismissed with a wave of his hand. Leaning against the window, Søren watched the sun rise above the sea of clouds. He was absolutely exhausted, but far too anxious to fall asleep. Why was no one talking to him?

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

_"You have to understand. What you're asking for just isn't done." admonished Dr. Westmeyer._

_"Well, unless you can come up with a less bullshit excuse for me to suffer, you'll have to do it. I want to live my life."_

_A sigh. "Okay. We'll do a total hysterectomy and remove any adhesions in the abdominal cavity."_

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Taxi!" Søren whooped, hand in the air as he flagged down a cab. The yellow car rolled up to the curb outside of baggage claim. The Dane hopped quickly into the backseat, bags and all.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked.

"Corner of Wilshire and Carmelina." replied Søren.

"Got it." The cab peeled away with no further prelude. Søren checked his phone again. One missed call from his mom, and an unopened text from Vincent. Nothing from you, Hai, or Bunny. He'd resolved to make a surprise visit to Hai at home and confront him about this secretive nonsense. There was no way any of this was good.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

_"We'll schedule you for surgery in 3 months time. Dr. Westmeyer confirmed. "Because of the adhesions, we'll have to do open abdominal surgery. We'll do a total hysterectomy, but if we can get all the extrauterine tissue removed, we can leave one or both ovaries. This will prevent you from getting menopause symptoms prematurely, and make it possible for you to have biological children via a surrogate, should you so choose." you almost gave a death glare, but opted not to. The doctor turned to Hai, who had re-entered the room for the pre-op instructions. "She'll be hospitalized for 3 days, and then she'll have to be resting at home for another 3 to 5 days. Heavy lifting is not allowed for at least 3 weeks, and full recovery can be expected after 6 weeks. You'll want to help her while she's home from work so she doesn't aggravate the incision. "_

_"And Søren will be at quarterfinals. He won't know." you continued._

_Hai grabbed your hand. "And we won't tell him. But you'll have to."_

_"I have to make this choice on my own." you asserted. "And I'm not sure he's ready for the children conversation yet. I'll tell him in time, when he's ready."_

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

His hair was ruffled, his clothes wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot as he climbed the front steps of Hai's house. Knocking at the door, he hoped to God someone was home. There was explaining to do.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

_Michael rushed into the room where you were just getting ready to be discharged from the hospital. Hai was at your bedside, helping you get your clothes on._

_"TSM just got knocked out of groups." he announced._

_You both blanched. "How did you find out?" asked Hai._

_The tall boy scratched his head awkwardly. "Smoothie knows we're here. You weren't picking up your phone, he called me for help, and...I slipped." Hai flung himself from his seat._

_"You told Smoothie?!" he shouted fiercely as he grabbed Michael's collar._

_"Only that you were here. Not why, and nothing about her at all." Michael timidly bit out through his teeth._

_An exhale. "Well, they're not due home until next week. That's plenty of time for me to come up with a cover story, and you'll be back at work by then. He'll be done the wiser."_

_"But what if he's mad at me for not watching his games, or not talking to him?" you asked worriedly as Michael helped you put on your shoes. "What happens if he finds out?"_

_Hai reassuringly rubbed your back. "It'll be okay. That I promise you."_

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The door swung open to reveal a surprised looking Hai.

"What the _fuck?_ We were worried you had been hurt!" Søren shouted. "Why were you in the hospital?"

"I'm fine. I was visiting someone, th-that's all." Hai tried to explain.

"Who in the hell were you visiting that Bunny hung up the phone on us?" he demanded. Then, a frustrated sigh. "You know what, forget it, that's not why I came. Do you know why (You) stopped answering her phone? Is that why?"

A startled gaze. "She's not? Look- I don't know what made you run out here to find out, but-"

"Søren?" you squeaked from inside the house. Michael helped you make your way to the door, your steps heavy. The pallor on your face was like Kabuki paint. Your boyfriend peeked behind Hai to look at you, and worry hit him like a freight train, all anger evaporated instantly.

"Oh my God, (You), what happened?" he covered his mouth in shock. Clearly it was something you wanted to hide from him. But _why?_ You shook your head.

"I'm so sorry, Søren. I love you, but I had to make a choice."

"Choice? What are you...?" he trailed off, voice trembling.

"You've given me so much, Søren. But I can't repay you any more. I refuse to keep taking you from your team in exchange for nothing." you explained, body trembling.

"You deserve someone who can. I'm setting you free."


	16. What if I Were Romeo in Black Jeans?

"Are you breaking up with me?" Søren finally asked directly. Hai and Michael stood statue still, waiting for your answer with bated breath. The space between you was thick as smog, choking, like the smoke of Impact's cigarette. Your pause was pregnant, far more than you would ever be. You swallowed deeply.

"Søren, I - " you began.

"No." he cut you off. The eyebrows of everyone else in the room arched almost clear off their faces.

"I - what?" you stammered, totally confused.

"No. We're not breaking up." he completed, not looking at any face. All other mouths hung agape. The thrashing he took at worlds was still apparent on his haggard features. Søren Bjerg was one sleepless short fuse away from explosion, and every soul in the room knew it. There was no bomb squad for relationships, only you and Søren could defuse the anguish ticking inside. Your underused muscles began to shudder, and the reverb startled Michael out of his trance.

"(You), you can't do this here, we're going back to the couch." he firmly ordered, already herding you gently back towards Hai's living room.

With Michael you could not argue. With Søren...

Your boyfriend snapped out of it, his concern for you renewed.

"Here, sit down." he offered, placing a large hand on your back.

"Søren, what -?" you tried to protest.

"Shh, no talking." he interrupted with a finger to your lips. You shot Hai a "do something, asshole" look, but the other midlaner simply chewed his lip, wide-eyed. Slowly, you were guided down onto the couch, Søren not hesitating to take a seat right beside you. Michael tactfully bowed out of the situation, moving to grip onto Hai's hand as they watched tentatively from afar. With no one left to mediate for you, you were forced to actually communicate now. Which, for most normal couples, was _frightening_.

"Why do you think you need to break up with me?" asked Søren, his face now neutral.

You took a deep breath. "Because I can't maintain an equal relationship anymore. It's not healthy to take and not give, even I know that." you explained. For a moment, Søren was silent, his features were still, betraying nothing.

"But do you _want_ to break up? Or do you _think_ you need to break up?"

This caught you off guard. "What are you -"

"I've broken up before, (You), I can't tell you don't actually want to break up." he stated calmly. His stare was non-threatening, yet piercing. "Clearly something happened while I was away that makes you think you're not good enough for me anymore." His hand snaked towards you, but dared not touch you yet. "I know it was you in the hospital. People have to go to the hospital sometimes, it happens. I just wanted to know why you didn't say anything to me."

Oh thank God, this was an easy answer. "I didn't want to worry you while you were on stage." This was true. It just was maybe 20 percent of the whole truth.

Søren nodded a little. "That I can understand." he began. "What I don't understand is why Michael would lie about it after he found out I had been eliminated?" Goddammit, you didn't think of that.

"Because, obviously, you shouldn't have found out this way." you sighed. You felt his fingers finally brush your outer thigh.

"What happened in the hospital?" he asked again, softly.

"I had to have surgery." Again, this was true, but not even remotely close to the entire truth. The fingers resting on your leg began to strum back and forth, as if to reward you for your disclosure.

"See, that's not so bad, is it? Emergencies happen, that's not shameful."

Fuck it, you couldn't lie to him. "It wasn't an emergency, Søren." you confessed.

This piqued Søren's interest. "What do you mean?" he asked, raising his brow inquisitively.

"I...kinda planned on having it a long time ago?" you awkwardly stated, your voice raising as if to ask a question. Søren's face was downturned, his eyes fixated on some minor imperfection on the floor.

"How long?"

"When I had my appendix taken out, they found a whole lot of adhesions inside me. That's why I was so sick all the time."

"So you just got them removed? That's not so bad." Søren mused. You shook your head.

"The adhesions were caused by something called endometriosis. It meant that I had lining from my uterus growing in places where it wasn't supposed to be." you explained. "So if they didn't do something about it, I would have just grown more adhesions."

"Oh, I see." Søren nodded in understanding. "So, what did they have to do?" You swallowed deeply, this was the hard part.

"Normally, they can try to stop the adhesions from progressing with birth control, but...it was so bad, and it hurt so much." You turned away, you couldn't face him anymore. "So they took my uterus."

Søren didn't respond for a while. He simply nodded, but not in the affirmative way. The Dane's chin bobbed slightly, indicating that he was processing, like someone might chew on a fatty piece of steak.

"That's hard." he finally said. "To go through that while I was at worlds."

"I planned it that way." you admitted. "I was expecting to be recovered enough to work by the time you came back, so it would be over and done with when the right time to talk about this came up. I swore Bunny and Hai to secrecy. But nobody thought you would get knocked out in groups, and I hadn't counted on you rushing home."

"Why wouldn't I come running?" Søren turned to you. "My season was over, and I thought Hai - someone I cared about was in danger. I can see why you didn't want me knowing earlier, you didn't want me off my game. But for me to not care at all would be callous, (You). These people you've had in your life before me, they're not the norm. They're assholes.

"I'm learning that, Søren. I feel horrible that I couldn't trust you enough to talk to you." The internal anguish your boyfriend must have experienced with every little thing you kept from him was likely killing him. As patient as you knew he was trying so hard to be, and he was, there was no way it wasn't incredibly painful for him. A tangle of tiny hurts made by each word you never spoke aloud.

"I'm not angry with you, I could never ask you to do things on my timeline. I knew what I was getting into when you told me that day." A wan smile crossed his face. "But you need to know that you are no less of a woman because you can't get pregnant anymore. There are other ways to have kids. There's surrogates and adoption, we- you can have all the kids you want." he nudged you, trying to be reassuring. If only he knew how really off the mark he just was.

"That's exactly why it had to be this way, Søren." you deadpanned. His brow knit. "They were just gonna do birth control, but I made them do the hysterectomy. That there was a minuscule chance I could ever be pregnant was not acceptable to me." you finally found your voice. "I don't want kids. I don't want kids whether they're yours, or mine, or anyone else's. That's why I held off on touching you all this time, because my fear that I could be pregnant was just too much." Your nails dug in the couch cushion. "I had to do this on my own because I couldn't allow you to be a part of my choice about my own body. I love you Søren, more than I could ever express, but I had to do something."

"If it's about the autism..." Søren began, carefully. "For what it's worth, I think you would be a great mom. I don't want you to decide things based on self-loathing." You shook your head furiously.

"It's not about me hating myself. I just realized that parents, well, every parent fucks up their kids in some way, no matter what they do, mine more than others." you shrugged. "I want to be someone that helps kids, that brings good things into their life, that can be their hero. I can't be that if I'm a parent. I need to be able to distance myself, take time to do the things I want to do, to be with the person I love-" A fleeting glance at your boyfriend. "-to look at things from an objective viewpoint. Parents are blind, Søren, and I can't abide by that if I want to do good in the world."

The silence in the room was so pregnant that you half expected it to deliver twins. Twins that Søren would never have if he stayed with you. Only now was he forced to consider what he was willing to lose. You weren't really willing to lose him, but if children were what he dreamed of, there would only be a charade of a relationship remaining if he stayed. Charades are what you had been given all your life. Was it truly better to lose him now, or play along and lose him anyway? This you could not answer. The ball was in Søren's court now.

"This isn't really how most people do the kids talk, (You)." he panned.

"But are we most people?" Your question was rhetorical, no relationship either of you would ever have would be like those of "most people".

"Clearly not." he acquiesced. "But it's a lot of song and dance for something any long-term couple does."

"I knew we would have to do this someday, and, believe me, this is far from how I wanted it to go, but every time I thought of it, I can only see how it meant we would have to end." you said. "As much as it will kill me, I refuse to keep you here waiting for me to change my mind on something I've closed the door on. Don't waste your time on me, Søren, I know how precious little you get." you begged of him.

And you waited for him to get up. You waited for him to walk out that door and find a girl to marry and have kids with. You wondered if he would want to have a beautiful baby boy, who would have his silvery teak-wood hair, and would his wife dress him up in all blue.

_Blue, like the color of her dress. Her dress woven of starshine, the texture of a Pacific morning dew in your hand as it faded, as_ she _faded away. Mist turning to salt in your throat, harsh in the air you couldn't breathe._

"No." A hand was heavy on your knee. You allowed yourself to meet his eyes. Surprisingly, they were so very warm. "You are my family."

"But, why? Surely you want to have kids of your own." you asked, dumbfounded that he even considered this an option. You watched his eyes flicker away for just a moment.

"To be quite honest, I actually feel a lot the same as you. I'm not sure I see myself putting so much of me onto a child."

"You're not just saying this because you don't want to hurt me?" An arm was pulling you close around your shoulders. God, you missed that.

"You can trust me on that. I won't lie to protect you." he affirmed. Irony hit you like a Mack truck.

"Even though that's exactly what I just did, and I roped your friends into a 3 month scheme to cover it up?" The tiniest chortle escaped him through his teeth.

"I forgave you the moment I walked through the door. I could never hate you for being you." The corners of his mouth quirked into a thin-lipped smile, a sliver of perfect teeth glinted through. And you couldn't help but smile back as a tiny tear of relief eked from your eye. Finally, it was over.

Carefully as possible, as not to aggravate your incision, he put his arms around you and planted a kiss on your lips so loving, you couldn't help but laugh-cry into his mouth. You could hear Hai and Michael's stifled gasps somewhere behind you. Søren brushed your hair away as he pulled back.

"So, does this mean you're not breaking up with me." he asked, a brilliant smile now reaching his eyes through his glasses rims.

A hearty laugh rang out into the living room. "Of course it does, smartass!" Hai and Michael couldn't help but squeal in delight as Søren pulled your face in for another heart-melting kiss.

The hole your surgeon left behind suddenly felt full again.


	17. Could We Fix You If You Broke?

**Peng Yiliang**

_[10:47]: there's no way i can talk to anyone else about this_

_[10:47]: its just_

_[10:48]: i cant stop seeing her face every night and i don't know what to do about it_

For only a heartbeat, her face was reflected in the glass of your monitor screen. A part of you ached to scream her name and beg the vision to stay, but the part of you that was still sane screwed your eyes shut and willed her to leave. You opened your eyes again and she vanished, mist in your fingers. Turning your attention back to your League client, you replied to Peter.

**(Summoner Name)**

_[10:49]: you should go see her_

**Peng Yiliang**

_[10:49]: thats the problem shes in seattle_  
_[10:49]: a few days isnt going to cut it, regis already talking about iem and im scared to play_  
_[10:50]: vincent said he heard you shouting one time when you were over and you were sleeping._  
_[10:50]: he said it looked like you were grabbing for someone._  
_[10:50]: it sounded like you were screaming for soren to him, but i think hes wrong about that_

It was just now that you realized why he was DM'ing you about this late on a Thursday evening. You and Peter were both deeply intuitive people. Vincent, too, but he was blinded somewhat by his youthful naiveté. The volatility of his question was unsafe for his teammates, but you were strangely equipped for this, given a shared anguish.

**(Summoner Name)**  
_[10:51]: you want to leave_

**Peng Yiliang**

_[10:51]: im not ready to retire. not like this_  
_[10:52]: but if i go out there again we wont win and itll just make shit worse_  
_[10:52]: theres no way for this to end well is there_

If this was your choice to make, you'd have made it yesterday. He knows your pain, but he doesn't have to share your fate.

**(Summoner Name)**

_[10:53]: who said you had to retire_  
_[10:53]: the game will still be there when youre ready. she wont_  
_[10:53]: youll lose everything if you stay, you might get both if you go_  
_[10:54]: and if that doesnt work, youll at least have the rest of your life with her_  
_[10:54]: dont lose her peter_

**Peng Yiliang**

_[10:56]: ill tell regi im taking a break in the morning  
[10:56]: dont tell soren or anyone we talked_

**(Summoner Name)**

_[10:56] : i wont if you dont tell soren about the nightmares_

**Peng Yiliang**

_[10:56]: done  
[10:56]: jw what's his name_

**(Summoner Name)**

_[10:57] : thats classified_

**Peng Yiliang**

_[10:57]: another boy? before soren?_

**(Summoner Name)**

_[10:57] : no_

**Peng Yiliang**

_[10:57]: oh. i get it.  
[10:57]: where is she now?_

**(Summoner Name)**

_[10:58] : gone_

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Florida was beautiful in the winter. The wet, suffocating heat of summer had gone to rest, leaving behind pink seas that birthed the sun each morning, and crisp black nights. The winds were gentle and cool as the storms of June slumbered. Which made perfect sense for an annual gathering of racing's finest figures to be here.

You and Søren decided to meet here in Hallandale Beach just as he returned from his family vacation in Denmark. Scrimming began in just two measly days, sure to be a trying affair with WildTurtle back in his old position. Almost fatefully, you had received an invitation to the prestigious Eclipse Awards at Gulfstream, and Søren was enthusiastic to accompany you, much to the dismay of your agent, Jerry, who was arguably more enthusiastic to fulfill that role. If you had to choose between Jerry and nobody, nobody would have won by a long shot.

"All these rich and famous people in the same place weirds me out, man." your boyfriend muttered. You swore to God Zach could have heard you snort from his house upstate.

"You've dragged me to how many of these team house parties, now? How do you imagine I felt, dipshit?"

Søren flushed. "Well that's- you know what, you're right. Not arguing this." His defeat made you stand the littlest bit taller. 

You had a very wealthy boyfriend. But the guests at this party were very, _very_ wealthy. He was justified to be intimidated here, All the players on TSM would have to pool their whole salaries to possibly afford a horse of the caliber celebrated tonight. 

"Why does that guy look like my thumb?" exclaimed Søren, a little bit too loudly, and obliviously pointing. You were about to elbow his rib and whisper-shout _have you no tact_ when you noticed the person of interest.

"That's Bobby Flay, that's what he looks like." you responded.

The Dane seemed very confused. "Bobby...Flay?" he stammered.

"You don't- god _dammit_ , Søren, seriously?" you facepalmed into next week. "He's an Iron Chef, owner of about eleventy-seven restaurants, can't turn on Food Network without seeing him? How have you lived in this country for 4 years and not heard of Bobby Flay?"

The blonde shrugged. "I don't fucking know, Bunny is literally the only person I know who watches Food Network. Why is he here anyway if he's a chef?"

"Because, being the owner of about eleventy-seven restaurants, he shits money. And, because he shits money, he owns an entire stables of racehorses. There's also that QB from the Broncos here too, Wes Welker, one of his ran in the Kentucky Derby this year."

"A...QB?" Søren queried.

Your eyes rolled clean to the back of your skull. "Jesus Christ, Søren, how has nobody explained this shit to you?"

"Hey, come on, Dyrus tried. I'm just a bad student, s'all."

"Aaaagh, alright, we have plenty of time for me to tell you a thing while people are getting drunk- not you, Søren." you placed a finger on his pouting lips, which he kissed. The gesture made your heart sing. "But, to answer your first question, everyone agrees that Bobby Flay looks like a thumb. He also cheated on his wife, who happened to be the hot blonde attorney from SVU, which makes him dumb beyond belief. Why would you cheat on one of the hottest women alive?"

Søren's eyebrow quirked adorably. "You seem very interested in the hot blonde attorney from SVU."

"She's hot, okay?!" you exclaimed exasperatedly. "Natalie Dormer is hot, the Mossad agent from NCIS is hot, Jennifer Lawrence is hot, am I not allowed to think other women are hot?"

"But isn't the Danish eSports guy hot enough for you?" asked Søren, his voice dripping with honey. His lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout that made you groan and melt simultaneously.

"Nicolaj? Dennis? Henrik? Sencux? _Santorin?_ " you played along. The last name made your boyfriend's face contort into a horrified silent scream. "Personally, I would ask Nicolaj out in a second. Anyone who who can four-stock someone as Ganon is husbando material."

_"(You)!"_

Your peals of laughter rang out across the space, turning heads in the crowd. "Of course you're hot enough for me." you assured, petting your boyfriend's freshly shaven cheek. "Though if you see anyone who was in the Hunger Games movies, let me know." you quipped with a wink that made Søren groan. You muffled him with a long kiss.

The majority of the event was one big procession of handshakes and petty small talk. Eventually, you herded Søren to a table so you could explain wonderful American conventions such as the Food Network and football in peace. At some point, the actual awards ceremony began, but you were so engrossed in Søren, you stopped paying attention about 3 minutes into the opening remarks. You didn't particularly care who won what, you were just happy for the open bar (where you _might_ have snuck Søren a Cosmo) and the finger food. You were especially fond of the mozzarella sticks.

"(You), you just won!" someone's voice rang out in your absentmindedness.

"Sorry, what? Who won?"

"Come back to Earth, space cadet, you just won an award! You have to get on stage!" Søren was shaking your arm now, and you paled. You were not aware that you were up for consideration for anything, but you blearily became aware of Søren hoisting you out of your seat and weaving you through the attendees, all of them applauding and cheering as you passed. Their eyes burned you as you met them. Sensing this, Søren tugged you faster until you felt yourself enter a warm stage light that blinded you as he handed you off to an usher to help you not trip up the stairs. A heavy statue was pressed into your hand, the gold plate reading _"Outstanding Apprentice Jockey"_. You came back to Earth behind a podium, all eyes expectantly on you. Søren waved at you from sidestage, and you found your voice.

"Uh, hi?" you awkwardly began, feedback from the microphone keening in your ears. The crowd rippled with amusement. "Look, I wasn't actually expecting to win anything, to be honest, I was surprised to be invited at all, and I came mostly for the open bar, but I think that's true for most people here." Laughter rumbled through the audience. Your boyfriend smiled in approval. "I honestly hate public speaking, so I'm not going to spend too much time up here. I'd like to thank my agent, Jerry Vasquez of Trevian Racing Associates, for going above and beyond in matching me to my partner horses." You heard Jerry holler from somewhere in the back, probably drunk off his ass like most of the crowd.

"I'd also like to give special acknowledgement to Liam's Map and his connections for giving me the best race of my career. Truly, I'd be hard-pressed to ride a finer horse." More applause from a table somewhat offside the stage: the horse's owners and trainer. Nice people to work with, a shame that you couldn't finish out the season with them due to your surgery. Your eyes found Søren again in the crowd, looking kind of like a proud dad. It made you feel like a superhero.

"And my boyfriend most of all. My hero." A hush fell over the audience. You wet your lips and continued. "Søren, I know how confusing horse racing is to you, and I know I didn't do the best job trying to explain, but you came to every race you could, and you were proud of me, win or lose. I mean, I didn't lose, but still." The room erupted in whistles and claps, and you were very proud of yourself for coming up with that. Søren's face was hidden behind his huge hands, but you could tell he was red from laughter. "But you always being there means the whole world to me, more than this shiny gold thing ever will. I love you." The crowd applauded once again, but to you, there was nobody but Søren. You concluded with a "thank you, and good night" before hustling down the stairs, hoping to find your boyfriend and finish your evening in peace.

Like a school of piranha to blood in the water, you were immediately accosted by a pack of well-wishers, ranging from trainers, fellow jockeys, and owners alike. As tall as Søren was, he couldn't pick you out and rescue you from such a crowd. It made him so happy that he was with someone who was successful in her own right. You could style him a hero all you wanted, but you were very much the author of your own story.

"You have some girl, you know that?" slurred someone from behind Søren, clapping him on the shoulder. The Dane whirled around to find Jerry, recognizing him from the brief introduction back from when you raced. Jerry was clearly sloshed, he swayed in place, and the stench of vodka was on his breath when he spoke.

Søren's fingers found his hair in nervousness. "I'm very lucky. Lucky to live the life I do, and exceptionally lucky to have her in it."

This piqued Jerry's interest. "What is it that you do? She said you were on some team?" Jesus Christ, not now.

"I'm a professional gamer. I play League of Legends in the North American league." he kept it brief. Lord knows drunk people have short attention spans.

Jerry sniggered in disbelief. "So (You) pays your bills, then?"

"Actually, my net worth is at least double hers. Maybe triple." Søren didn't particularly enjoy talking about his pay and how much he made, but this was getting ridiculous. He didn't feel like justifying himself to this guy.

Jerry almost cackled, clapping for dramatic effect. "So you think you're hot shit because you have a few Gs to spare. Big fucking whoop. Most of this room wipes their ass on your salary."

"I'm well aware, thanks." your boyfriend's voice was clipped.

The older man came close, _uncomfortably_ close. "Let me lesshu' in on a lil' secret." his breath starting to claw at Søren's delicate throat. _Where was his inhaler?_ "She doesn't need your money. She doesn't need you." the man almost giggled. "What she needs is glory. She needs someone that can grease the right wheels, schmooze the right bigwigs, someone that can make her _great._ "

"She already is." your boyfriend tried to cut in.

"See her, over there?" he gestured vaguely towards the swarm of people surrounding you, almost whacking Søren in the chest in the process. "That is what she needs. And I can give her that." his eyes narrowed.

The hair on the back of Søren's neck began to prickle. His nails dug into his palm, his lungs becoming painfully tight. "Some people she doesn't even like?"

" _Success_ , my boy!" Jerry boasted. "Something you don't understand." he sniffed. "She's not some horse you can buy, son. She's a goddess." he then leaned in very, very close to Søren's ear.

_"I can make her beautiful."_

"Get your hands off my girl, you fuck." Søren shoved Jerry roughly off him, nostrils flaring. He didn't care if he ruined your career anymore. There was no reason you should have to put up with this.

Jerry chortled. "How do you expect to stand up for a woman when you can't even swing? What a fag-"

He didn't finish his sentence on account of the haymaker colliding with his temple. Like a sandbag, he dropped, revealing you standing just behind him with your fist still clenched. _Holy shit!_

"I think I'm the only person allowed to comment on the gay shit my boyfriend has done, thank you."

Søren was flabbergasted. "What the fuck, did you just punch out your _agent?_ "

You rolled your eyes. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for a reason to do that. It was nice to milk him while it lasted, but harassing my boyfriend is where I draw the line."

Hands flew to cover his face. "So you knew this whole time?"

A sad nod. "I felt kind of bad taking advantage of him like that. But a guy over 40 actually going for a 22 year old is pretty gross. Might as well play with him and get something good out of it." you shrugged.

Søren suddenly clasped tight to your shoulders. "You just ended your career. You know that right?"

"Obviously." you deadpanned. "There's nothing he can give me we can't get for ourselves."

An exaggerated sigh. "God, I love you. But I would have knocked him out for you, you know that."

"I love you too, but I don't need you to be my hero all the time."

"What the fuck." he facepalmed. "You literally _just_ called me your hero on stage."

You groaned. "Goddammit." Tired of the conversation, you yanked your boyfriend in by the tie for a kiss. A kiss that was interrupted by-

"Nice shot." A gruff voice from a graying man in a suit. You wheeled around and saw-

"Tom Fletcher. You're Tom Fletcher." This night was getting really fucking weird.

Tom Fletcher nodded. "I see you're no longer with Trevian?"

You scoffed. "Is that even a question at this point? I did just ruin any career I had."

"It doesn't have to be the end." he suggested. "He was an ass, and we all knew that. You don't need him. You're your own woman." He reached into his jacket pocket for a business card. "I do hope you'll call me in the morning. I'm looking for an outstanding apprentice jockey to point my 3 year old towards the Santa Anita Derby this year."

You accepted the card, slackjawed. "This is insane."

"The whole industry's insane. Get used to it." he rested a hand on Søren's shoulder. "Please send Andy Dinh my regards, and ask him to pass along some tickets to your game, will you? My son won't stop pestering me about this 'TSM' thing." And, just like he appeared, he was gone.

"Tonight has been really fucking odd." Søren proclaimed.

You opted to respond my yanking him back in for a kiss, smashing your faces together in a disgustingly adorable fashion. Søren dipped you back as your tongues tied, and you won all over again.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

**(Summoner Name)**

_[1:17]: it happened again_

**Peng Yiliang**

_[1:17]: what?_

**(Summoner Name)**

_[1:17]: when i came off the stage tonight there was a woman in a blue dress  
[1:18]: i saw the color of her hair and i couldnt breathe_


	18. Your Hands on my Cheeks, Your Shoulder in my Mouth

Flame was _gorgeous._

The new top laner for Immortals was maybe a bit smaller in person, but even with the thick-rimmed glasses he was still ethereal in appearance, skin glowing as if he had walked straight out of a Shiseido ad. His eyes sparkled and his lips were fuller than yours, his teeth milk-white (he wouldn't even look at a cigarette).

In your opinion, there was a zero percent chance this man was anywhere near his mid-twenties. Not by the way his smile crinkled all the way to his eyes when he spoke, nor the way he curled his long fingers around both of your hands and shook them like an orange juice carton, _"My name, name is Lee Hojong, nice to meet, ah?"_ shyly burbling forth. Hojong was currently fascinated by one of your scrunchies on your wrist, fiddling with the tartan-print elastic and rearranging the hair ties on your wrist.

You almost stopped to ask him if he had ever been diagnosed with autism.

Of course, there was very little chance he would be able to understand what you were asking. Josh had decided that today would be a wonderful day to "acclimate his new teammate to Trump's America." to quote him directly. Naturally, Søren, being a veteran import, as well as Josh's friend, was asked to come along. Tagging along was his ex-teammate, Piglet, to help somewhat with translation, as Hojong knew nowhere near enough English to ask for anything himself. Piglet, however, was not that intelligible of an English speaker to begin with, so he relied on Josh to break nuanced concepts down using as few syllables as possible, as well as make his best guess at what Piglet was asking of him. Between the three of them, they had quite a game of funny telephone.

Walking alongside the top laner, Piglet- Gwangjin, as he was insistent you call him - pulled a face at Hojong through his spectacles, crossing his eyes and curling his lips. The smaller Korean then deliberately walked directly into Hojong's side, deep laughter issuing from his chest as the Immortals player recoiled and shoved him back, this time into Josh.

Where Hojong was long and graceful, Gwangjin was 30 gallons of whoopass in a standard soda can. His hair was fried and strawlike from the bleaching, acne and budding stubble dotted his striking cheekbones and tiny jaw. Compared to the doe-eyed Flame, Gwangjin's eyes were dark, bags forming from sleepless nights. The lingering scent of cigarette smoke was embedded in the stitching of his blue Team Liquid sweater, whereas the cloying aroma of whatever expensive skincare product Hojong ordered online clung to him like a nettle.

They were so, _so_ very different, but from the 20-something minutes you'd known them, they might as well have been twin 5 year olds. Outside of their gaming houses, they exploded into pure joy, constantly skipping and giggling and swapping secrets in hushed Korean. Every few moments, one of them would press themselves up against the other, or Josh, or you, and sometimes Søren, nuzzling their faces against you like overly affectionate cats. Least unfazed by the pair's antics was Josh, who would chortle into the sleeve of his hoodie every so often.

"Jesus, Pig, I don't think Bjerg likes dudes quite as much as you do." remarked the jungler, as his ex-teammate randomly flung his arms around Søren for- what, the third time in the past ten minutes?

Gwangjin theatrically whipped around, pantomiming his disdain as he encroached into Josh's personal space.

"You call me gay, Joshie-ah? You _shit-talk-ah_ me, toxic _jung-ah-ler?"_ he rasped, draping himself over Josh like a cape. Josh laughed, truly laughed for once. For someone so full of rage all of the time, he had infinite patience for his teammate's dramatics and lack of interpersonal boundaries.

"Ah, no! Save me, Bjerg! Save me from Pigzilla!" he stage-yelled, exaggeratedly reaching out for your boyfriend, who decided to humor him and return the gesture. Gwangjin feigned gobbling his ex-jungler down, causing Hojong to let out a rather ladylike squeal and attempt to hide himself behind you. A hard task, given how much smaller you were. His arms went all the way around your torso and it felt nice.

_"Pi-guh-let"_ Hojong whispered, peeking his head out from behind you with a cheeky grin. _"Pi-guh-let,_ be nice to Søren, ah? He like girls." he pressed his face a little more into your side. "Pretty girls, see?" Everyone went red, but not as red as you, and definitely not as red as Søren.

Gwangjin snorted. "What about Josh?"

"I'm fuck Joshie." panned Hojong, with a rather straight face. A round of ohhhhhhs went around the crowd.

"Yeah Flame, go fuck Josh!' chimed Søren. You and Gwangjin were absolutely howling as Josh dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Alright, I'm gonna take the L." he sighed, in mock defeat. "Flame, buddy, why you gotta do me like that? We've been over this, it's just 'fuck', not 'I'm fuck'." he whined.

The top laner didn't respond, save for pouting at his new teammate as he slung himself to your opposite side, still partially wrapped around you as he fiddled with the ends of your hair. For whatever reason, he found you fascinating. It was very peculiar, but simultaneously highly endearing.

Hojong by nature attracted speculation, frequently spotted on camera cozied up to somebody in a suggestive pose. There was also something to be said for Gwangjin, who had remained mum on anything related to his possible preferences in bed. Maybe it was simply a symptom of his hyperfocus on the game that made him a World Champion, but you had an inkling that his silence was a means of keeping a secret. There was the tiniest of tremors in the ADC's lip when he moved to harass Josh after his comment. You wondered if Gwangjin would find comfort in that there were pros with similar tastes outside of Hai and Bunny's utopia on the edge of the scene, but it wouldn't be too much help, since Søren barely was able to cope with his own sexuality. Søren, whose face was still flushed after that close call of an exchange.

"Where does it hurt?" a soft voice suddenly interrupted your thoughts. "Where does it hurt?" asked Hojong, poking you in the arm. "Does anybody know C-P-R?"

Josh cringed aloud. "Goddammit, Hojong, not this shit again."

You and Søren exchanged a confused look. "Uhh, what is he doing?" you asked, very concerned about why he learned that particular tidbit.

The jungler rolled his eyes. "He randomly found first-aid instructions or some shit and he started reading them, and now he runs around asking random people where it hurts and if they know CPR." Half of a grin formed on his face. "I'm almost positive he doesn't know what it means. The fucker thinks it's damn hilarious though."

Hojong grinned impishly, now tapping Søren on his shoulder. "Where does it hurt?" he repeated, quickly running over to Gwangjin and shoving him. "Where does it hurt, _Pi-guh-let?"_

"Right here!" hollered Gwangjin, suddenly lifting Hojong clear off the ground and carrying him around for a few seconds, the top laner screeching in delight the entire time.

You and your boyfriend had a hearty laugh. "My god, how do you deal with this?" asked Søren.

An amused sigh from Josh. "I guess I'm the Korean Whisperer. I'm immune to import bullshit."

"That is a surprisingly useful quality, Josh." the Dane mused.

"Well, it looks like we're here." you announced, arriving at your destination.

Hojong went wide-eyed through his glasses. _"In-En-Out."_ he enunciated. "What does mean? _In-En-Out?"_

"It's In-N-Out, dude, it's like 'in and out', but you just say the first two words fast, so they sound the same." you explained. "And this is a food place."

"NA food! _Sooooo_ good!" Gwangjin was bouncing on his heels.

"Holy fuck, I'm so hungry." groaned Søren. He'd been trying very hard to gain weight and it was starting to show. His neck had become thicker, and his shoulders had become more defined and triangular. Stubble dotted his chin. He was less of a beanpole these days, growing more and more into the likes of Kevin. 

Hojong nervously fiddled with the sleeve of Josh's sweater as he led everyone into the restaurant. Instantly, you were assaulted by the sharp beeping of the cooking equipment and the din of the busy patrons. The smell of food cooking was overwhelming, yet mouthwatering. Søren noticed you had flinched and squeezed your hand. You let yourself lean into his shoulder, using him like a human shield. Gwangjin was explaining something to a very bewildered Hojong in Korean. Their eyes flicked in your direction for a moment, and their faces dropped for a brief second, before turning back to what they were talking about.

"Dude, I am craving animal fries like no other." mused Josh, Hojong still attached to his arm. "What do you think the man-child wants?"

"Which one? Him or Piglet?" you gestured to the Koreans, oblivious in their conversation.

Josh snorted. "Hojong, obviously. He looks like he subsists on random foliage he finds in the street." True, he did look pretty slight. "Do you think he'd be weirded out by an animal style burger or-"

"I'll just order for everyone." offered Søren. "Hi, can I get a double-double with grilled onions, a 4 by 4, another double-double, animal style please, a single cheeseburger- hold the tomato (you hated the texture of tomato on a sandwich), and... _uhhhhhhh_...a single cheeseburger, animal style-"

"Animal fries!" chirped Gwangjin.

"Add two orders of animal fries, one order or regular fries, a neapolitan shake, and 4 medium drinks, please." he finished. He and Josh went to pay while you and the Koreans found seats outside.

"Hey, Superpig!" Josh called out. "I need you to help carry our shit."

Gwangjin stomped his feet. "Why do I have to carry?" he petulantly whined.

"Because you're the carry. It is literally your job title, you fuck." his ex-teammate deadpanned.

The Korean let out a horrendous noise that was somewhere between a groan and a screech, before relenting and following the other men inside. This left you alone with Hojong, who chose to seat himself directly next to you at the table, within breathing distance. You would say this should be uncomfortably close, but, for whatever reason, there was nothing uncomfortable about it.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, poking your arm again.

You stifled a giggle. "Do you know what that means, Hojong?"

Hojong nodded. "I know what does mean." He touched your shoulder, softer. "Where does it hurt?"

Your face fell as you chewed the inside of your lip. "Why are you asking me that?"

"You look like you have hurt." he reasoned, face softening. "Here, it hurts?" his cool hand trailed up the side of your face, playing a little with your hair.

Your mouth came open to try and explain something, anything. _Why does he know this, and why does he care?_

"There is a hurt, yes, but not the kind like if I hit my head." you paused, trying to find the words to explain something as complex as depression and borderline to someone who understood English at a kindergarten level at best. "The hurt is inside of my mind."

Hojong was silent, his lip quivering a little. His hand was still playing with your hair.

"Do I do C-P-R?" he asked, strangely innocent for someone so obscenely perceptive. You would have laughed at the fact that a 24 year old didn't know what CPR was, but couldn't find it inside you.

"No, Hojong, CPR is for when the heart stops working and the person is on the ground. This kind of hurt is very hard to make better."

The top laner inquisitively tipped his head. "Why do you hurt, in here?" he asked, tapping the side of his own head.

"I...I don't know, Hojong. I don't." you admitted. "I wish I could explain more, but I don't speak Korean."

Hojong's expression was what could be described as adorably concerned. You felt his thumb on your cheek.

"No, not cry." he murmured, wiping at what seemed to be a single tear you didn't realize had escaped. His other hand found itself tangling with yours, fingers drumming deftly on your knuckles. "You very pretty girl. Pretty girl should not cry."

You tried to smile reassuringly, but you didn't succeed. And then Hojong was winding himself around you, reminiscent of a sloth. His head was on your shoulder, butting up against you. You let yourself melt against him, this guy you met about an hour ago who can barely understand a word you tell him. In a world where you spoke the same language, Hojong would have likely been begging you to pour your heart to him, it was clear that he was a natural empath. You could feel the urge to want to do _something_ burning deep inside him, but there was nothing he could really do except just _be_ there, since the language barrier stopped you from talking in any depth.

"Hojong, I'm sorry. New people are scary for me sometimes." you explained. Why you felt the need to tell him this, you didn't know. "I just don't understand why you are being so nice to me and how you knew I was sad."

You felt him shift beside you. "Joshie and _Pi-guh-let_ have tired in eyes, because they work too hard. When I meet, I see tired in your eyes, like Joshie, so I know you have hurt, you understand, yes?"

You nodded, feeling the top laner's head bob against you. "Yes, that makes sense."

"I think, that you and me, we are like same." he turned to look at you. "So I think, we should friends, yes? I like Bergs, Bergs is smart man. So if Bergs love you, you are nice girl." A dopey grin crossed his face.

Your nose crinkled at his adorable inability to pronounce your boyfriend's name. Maybe he did have some understanding of autism, even if he didn't have the words for it. Heck, maybe he was insinuating he had it himself. But, hey, what wasn't to like about the ridiculously cuddly, good-looking, possibly autistic dude who decided he wanted to be your very best friend in under an hour? You couldn't find fault with him.

"By same, do you mean like, this same?" you asked, pulling your phone out and opening to google translate.

_Japyejeung_

Hojong's grip tightened around your hand as he peeked up over your shoulder.

"Y-you too? _Japyejeung?"_ he stammered.

"Mmm, yes. Autism, it's called here. Me too."

You felt Hojong exhale in relief. "I not know anyone else before."

"I like you, Hojong. You're pretty dank." you announced.

"What does mean, dank?" the Korean's eyebrows knit as he crawled off you.

"Dank means good. Kind of." you started snickering. Not like he wasn't going to learn it anyway, right?

"Dank, dank, dank." you listened as he tried the new word out on his tongue. The door to the restaurant opened to reveal Gwangjin, holding one of the food trays. Hojong called out something to him in Korean as he set the food down.

"Hi." Gwangjin murmured, suddenly leaning himself over you to look at you upside down, a goofy smile trying to hold back laughter.

"Hi, Gwangjin." you replied, and he burst into chuckles as he moved to sit across from Hojong.

"Alright, boys, food's here!" Søren called out, Josh trailing close behind with a third tray. They arranged the smorgasbord on the table in front of you before Søren took a seat next to you. You released a happy squeak as he put an arm around you and kissed your head.

"What monstrosity have you ordered today, Søren?" asked Josh, unwrapping his double-double.

Your boyfriend slapped the offending sandwich on the tray in front of him. "I give you the 4 by 4." he presented the gigantic foodstuff with a flourish. Hojong and Piglet's eyes popped clean out of their heads at the sight.

"Oh! So big!" exclaimed Hojong.

_"Sooooo_ fat!" drawled Gwangjin, now chomping onto his own double-double.

"Tryna get swole." explained Søren. "Need food for big muscles." he patted his bicep, for Hojong's benefit.

"Between that sandwich and your milkshake, I'm not sure you're heading for the right kind of swole." you snarked, causing your boyfriend to flick the side of your head, and Josh to shoot soda from his nose.

"Hey, I am swole!" announced Hojong, grinning with pride as he flexed his less-impressive arms.

"'Atta boy, Hojong!" Josh clapped his new teammate on the shoulder. "We'll make you into an NA man yet."

You turned back to watch Hojong curiously fiddle with the foil wrapping on the outside of his animal-style burger. You reached over to show him how it was unwrapped to expose the burger.

"Like this, Hojong." Gwangjin demonstrated how to hold the burger and bite into it. Hesitantly, the other Korean did the same, slowly taking a bite into the sandwich and chewing ponderously.

"Is it good?" inquired Josh, as everyone leaned in to hear the new import's verdict.

Hojong swallowed deeply, before setting his burger down. "It is dank!" he chirped, giving the thumbs up sign. Everyone else almost fell from their seats in rib-splitting laughter.

"Jesus Christ, what are you teaching him?" your boyfriend asked Josh.

Josh opened his mouth to reply, but Hojong gave you away, pointing at you enthusiastically. "She tell me dank is good word!"

"Oh my God, I regret everything." you whined, burying your face into your hands.

"Hojong, dank is a word for marijuana." Josh explained, once he had calmed enough to do so. Gwangjin pantomimed smoking a cigarette and said something in Korean. You watched Hojong's eyebrows raise, and then his hand reach over to toss a fry at your head. His tongue stuck out at you petulantly.

"Stop corrupting the import, (You)." Søren sing-songed.

"Yeah, you've done enough of that." Josh gave a pointed look at Søren.

Meanwhile, Gwangjin was helping Hojong stuff animal fries into his mouth. His enjoyment was visible on his face.

"You, like NA food, huh?" Søren asked.

Hojong smiled brilliantly. "I enjoy shoving large objects in places they don't belong."

If his previous line had been a joy buzzer, this was an atomic bomb. Even Gwangjin lept from his seat as everyone in attendance howled with laughter.

"Okay, that is _definitely_ not on me!" you wheezed as Søren helped you stay standing.

"Flame, NO!" Josh exclaimed, trying so, so hard to keep a straight face and look stern, but utterly failing. "Hojong, _Hojong_ , buddy, do you know what that means?"

Hojong shook his head no. The group shared a look, initiating a game of chicken to nominate the poor sap who had to explain this concept to the new import. Finally, Gwangjin sighed and turned to face his fellow Korean.

"It's gay." Gwangjin deadpanned. "When you say that, it means gay." Hojong still looked utterly confused, like a child who had been told Santa Claus isn't real. Gwangjin rolled his eyes and started speaking in Korean, making an obscene gesture as he did so. You watched in slow-motion as Hojong's jaw hit the ground, before he squealed and hid his head in his hands in shame.

"I take it the Flamedoch rumors are vastly overstated?" you surmised.

Josh nodded solemnly, watching as Gwangjin consoled his fellow Korean in his moment of shame.

"He just doesn't understand personal space, that's all. Superpig on the other hand, well...never seen him seriously with a girl, and I'm not holding my breath on that one." confessed the jungler. "Not after I overheard him spanking it to G-Dragon."

"You know, Josh, that is something I totally needed to know about right before I finally get to eat my fucking food." you stated.

"Yeah Josh, don't be a dick." Søren smirked, taking another massive bite out of his gargantuan sandwich.

The rest of your meal went quite well, with Hojong trying out only a few inappropriate malapropisms between bouts of shoveling food into his face. When all was said and done, you rose to continue your trek towards the Boardwalk, belly almost painfully full.

"I just realized that I'm the only one here not wearing glasses." you wondered out loud. Hojong was once again chasing Gwangjin around as the ADC took drags of his e-cig (which he brought out of concern for Søren's asthma), while Josh watched over them like a proud dad. You and Søren were walking alongside each other in perfect step.

"Well, excuse you for having perfect vision." your boyfriend smarmily replied.

"Maybe it's glasses that allow us to reach such high ELO." Josh jokingly mused. "With our spectacles, we shall rule the world of eSports."

"Wait, holy shit, we have a top, jungle, mid laner, and ADC. We have a complete team here and all we need is a support." you announced.

All eyes turned on you, even the Koreans stopped what they were doing to stare.

"Oh god _dammit_ , not me! I'm bronze you guys!" you whined.

"What, you don't want to support _Pi-guh-let?"_ the ADC mocked.

"B-but you won worlds, and I'm bronze, I'm _unworthyyyyy!"_

_"Pleaaaaaaase?"_ Gwangjin cooed, practically shoving his face into yours.

"Come on, (You), don't make Pig cry, you're hurting his feelings!" Josh jested.

"Don't worry, I won't let you embarrass yourself too hard." Søren was whispering in your ear, pecking you on the temple.

You groaned. "Fine, I'll play with you."

Gwangjin clapped his hands and tapped you on the nose. "I like you."

"I like you too, but I'm playing Morgana only. Anything else I feed."

"Oh, _sooooo_ bad!"


	19. You're Growing Up Fast, Just Like the Flora

"I love how we leave our houses where we play video games for 12 hours a day to go somewhere else to play video games." observed Søren.

You snorted at the irony. "A little diversity is refreshing, right?"

"Besides," added Josh "Any one of these games could be the next Melee."

"Yeah, sure, TSM Buck Hunter team incoming." Søren chortled.

Gwangjin lifted the mock-rifle and attempted to pick off a deer standing behind a tree, but the game quickly terminated: he'd shot a female, a no-no in this game.

"Uwaaaa- _Ssibal!"_ the ADC swore, stamping his feet.

"The AD who can't aim for shit in real life, how ironic." you pointed out.

"Come on, you shitter- give it here." Josh beckoned, holding his hand out for Gwangjin to pass him the rifle. He popped a few quarters into the machine, poising himself to snipe his mark. Until that also turned out to be a doe.

 _"Soooooo_ fucking bad!" Gwangjin was cackling, slapping a very giggly Hojong's knee. "No finger, no brain."

"Like you were any better, scumfuck." Josh grumbled.

You and Søren exchanged a look, trying and failing to suppress your laughter. Josh glowered at you through his glasses and silently handed you the rifle. You slotted some quarters into the game and took aim.

_*PAP* *PPAP* *PPAP*_

Three bucks down, the boys behind you imitating a montage parody. You curtsied exaggeratedly.

"That's my girl!" Søren praised, picking you up and kissing your nose, making you squeal.

"Ah! Put me down!" you shrieked. Søren refused to relent, smacking his lips on yours.

"I'm sorry, I'm just in disbelief that this guy won a world championship based on landing skillshots and lost a game about skillshots. To you." he said.

"Dude, I've literally played this game every time I was somewhere that had it. He's probably never seen it before in his life, cut him a break." you explained.

"Uhhhh..." Josh droned.

"What? This game is fun!" you whined.

"You seem to enjoy killing animals." the jungler snarked.

"Speaking of killing animals, whack-a-mole is over there." your boyfriend pointed out, gesturing to a stand nearby.

You noticed Gwangjin perk up at the mention of the game, excitedly dragging Hojong over and foisting the mallet into his hand. You watched as the AD carry pantomimed hitting the mole with the mallet as he explained in Korean, plunking a quarter into the machine. The game started with a shrill ring of a bell, moles popping up left and right. Hesitantly, Hojong tapped one with the mallet, using barely enough force.

"Dude, hit 'em harder! Smack 'em!" you cheered.

A smirk creeped up the top laner's face as he started to whack at the moles in earnest, squealing in satisfaction as he giddily bopped each mole that popped up square on the head.

"I'm doing it! I'm winning!" he beamed.

"Typical top laner." Søren jested, under his breath.

"How does he lift that mallet though? He looks like a damn stick." Josh wondered aloud.

"The magic of Korean mechanics." you jokingly explained, accompanying your statement with jazz hands.

The bell shrieked again, Hojong dropped the mallet to hop up and down, jabbing a finger at the scoreline.

"Holy shit, he broke the high score" Søren hollered, hands on top of his head.

"Goddamn, son!" praised Josh, playfully shaking his shoulder. Hojong's face was pure sunshine beneath his glasses, radiant and warm. You watched as Gwangjin clambered all over him, tittering something in his native tongue. It wasn't until a nearby employee gestured behind him that Hojong realized that he got to pick a prize.

"Dude, you can pick one! You win!" you encouraged.

Hojong pursed his lips, chewing on the end of a long pinky-nail. Scanning the rack of obscenely large plush toys, he eventually settled on a blue monstrosity on the far left rack.

"This." he indicated. The employee retrieved the prize: A gigantic Mudkip doll. Immediately, Hojong burrowed his face into the soft object, glasses and all.

"Søren, this is so adorable, I think I'm gonna die." you squealed, digging your fingers into your boyfriend's shoulders.

"No! I'm more adorable!" he whirled around to face you, making his best "adorable face", which was his cheeks and lips sucked in.

"Me! _Pi-guh-let!"_ Gwangjin interrupted, wrinkling his nose and flashing his two front teeth.

"Holy fucking shit you guys, untuck your dicks." sighed Josh, rubbing his eyes.

You imitated the thinking emoji, trying to make your very expression of mock deliberation.

"Sorry, Superpig. I think my boyfriend wins this one." You leaned over to give said boyfriend a long smooch on his unsurprised mouth.

 _"Nyuuuuuhhhh!"_ Gwangjin whined, crossing his arms and pouting.

"Oh, no, don't cry! I still like you!" you assured, playing along with the ADC's tantrum.

Gwangjin positively lit up, grabbing the Mudkip from Hojong and nuzzling his face into it.

"I knew I could count on your vote, (You)." Søren husked, pulling you back in to leave a messy kiss just below your ear.

"Hey, I'm gonna fuckin' vomit if I have to watch this bullshit any longer. Can we actually ride a ride or some shit before I jump off the pier?" Josh groaned.

Gwangjin perked up and fired off a string of words to Hojong that made the top laner's eyes pop out of his head.

"Roller coaster! _Pleaaase?"_ the Team Liquid player begged, kneeling in front of the jungler with puppy dog eyes.

Josh huffed. "Okay, fine. Come on, Flame, time to make a man out of you."

"Josh, that's gay." you butted in.

Josh flipped you off, a snickering Hojong following, while Gwangjin dashed ahead, screaming. You felt Søren's body weight settle beside you, a dopey smile crossing his face as he stared at you.

"Hi." he rasped.

"Hello." you softly melted a kiss onto his lips, eyes fluttering shut.

"So, about that roller coaster?" your boyfriend quirked an eyebrow.

You sighed. "Yeah, not happening. Like, I know it's safe, it's just, it's too _much,_ and-"

"It hurts your head, doesn't it?" his question was more of a statement. "I'm not gonna make you go on it if it's not fun for you. They're not gonna care, and someone has to babysit that blue homonculus anyway."

Turning away, you chewed on your lip, clenching and unclenching your hands imperceptibly to everyone but Søren.

"I'm sorry, I know these are things couples are supposed to be doing together, and, you know, _sacrifices-"_

"Fuck sacrifices." he cut you off, placing an open mouthed kiss on your shoulder as he wormed his fingers in between your clasped hands. "This is pretty fucking low on the list of things I give a shit about. I want you to be _happy,_ love, not bending over backwards to try to please me."

"I, but I-"

"Shut the fuck up." Søren mouthed at your jaw. "You don't have to do that anymore. I'm not letting people take more than your body is willing to give. Never again."

You let your head loll onto his strong shoulder. "Thank you." you murmured.

"Hey, don't thank me for being a decent human being." he nuzzled the crown of your head. "You can thank me when I do something _really_ nice."

You opened your mouth to reply, but were interrupted by Gwangjin dragging you by the wrist to get into line with him, eyes sparkling with excitement behind his glasses.

"Uh, Pig, I'm not-" you started to explain, apprehension tightening like a noose inside you.

"She's gonna sit this one out." Søren helpfully interjected, arms coming back around you quickly. "Sorry, bro."

Both Koreans groaned exaggeratedly, like a child being told it was time for bed during their favorite cartoon. The Dane quickly moved to pluck the Mudkip doll out of Hojong's hold, passing it to you.

"You can't take this on there with you, right? Can she take care of it?" he asked the top laner.

Hojong smiled brightly and nodded. Søren exhaled and waved them off, Josh following as he escorted you to some seating near the line entrance.

"Will you be alright waiting here, love?" inquired Søren, guiding you to sit on the bench.

"I'm always happy to watch your shit for you" you replied. "The perks of being hypersensitive."

A single giggle issued from Søren's lips. He carefully pecked your forehead.

"There's pretty much no line, so we should only be gone a few minutes. Love you." he grinned gently.

Josh sighed heavily. "For fuck's sake, you're going on a roller coaster, not being drafted to 'Nam, you don't have to be so damn _mushy."_

You could see Søren move to bite out a retort, but they were inaudible as they walked to join the line. As many people as there were here, it was strangely quiet now without the antics of the Koreans, tempered by Josh's faux-exasperation. You allowed yourself to sink onto the bench, as if you were melting in the California sun. The overstuffed Mudkip served as a very nice pillow. Your eyes began to flit around to all of the bright colors of the pier, the oscillating lights of the ferris wheel, the blinking of the bulbs in the arcade booths, the neon balloons bobbing along in the hands of passing children. Surprisingly, none of this overwhelmed you, it was strangely pleasant. You wondered if this is what it was like to not be autistic.

There was a woman on her phone at the ATM, her back was turned to you. A flowy blue top hung off one shoulder as she tapped at the screen. Around her, the world began to gray out, the gaggle of nearby teenagers now moving in slow motion. Like a marionette string, you felt yourself being pulled up towards her, your eyes peeling open as you waited for her to turn around.

It wasn't until a ray of the dying sun poked through the clouds that you saw it, and she glowed. There was nothing else but you and her, and your heart stuck painfully in your throat when you saw.

_The color of her hair._

_%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%_

_"Hot dog, this photo scavenger hunt looks hard."_

_Her nose was crinkled up, not unlike a mouse. The sun's light was dying and it made her hair hum with life. She smiled one of those smiles that went all the way to her eyes._

_"And of course, I'm the rich kid with the digital camera. Fuck me, right?" you replied, playing with your braid. A single cowlick hung down your forehead from where the hair was growing back in._

_"Looks like we're stuck together." she joked again, foisting the nicely printed paper from your hands. "Hey, can you take a picture of me?"_

_"Uhhh, sure, what kind?" you quirked an eyebrow._

_"Just take a picture, dumbass." she quipped, suddenly going comically wide-eyed and slackjawed, hamming for the camera. There was a little bit of blue paint on her nose._

_"Okay, hold still" you murmured, focusing the display and turning off the flash, before finally taking the picture with your point and shoot. "What a lovely portrait." you snarked._

_"I enjoy embodying a potato." she remarked, looking down at the list. "It says here we need two left feet."_

_"Wait, we have two left feet between us, right?" you wondered aloud. "Here, stick your foot out and put it next to mine." you suggested._

_"Oh, okay, I see what you mean." she complied. "Girl, your shoes are fabulous."_

_Your shoes were custom ordered in colors you liked, and that your mother thought were garish. They were black Nikes with blue and yellow accents and forest green laces. Her own shoes were well-loved Converse, with all kinds of marker doodles covering the white rubber and bleeding over into the fabric. The kind of doodles you might find in a teenaged girl's notebook after a particularly boring class. She'd also chosen to scribble on herself with sharpie marker, as if to tattoo herself._

_"Thanks, girl." you giggled, snapping the picture. You forgot to turn off the flash, but it still looked pretty good and you didn't feel like taking another._

_"Ohmigod, this is such an artsy picture, right? Like one of those album covers?" she gushed, her smile again creeping towards her eyes._

_"Wait, actually, it is! I think I'll keep this one." you decided._

_"I think this picture is an accurate depiction of our friendship. Can you send me this picture when you get home?" she asked._

_"Of course." you agreed. There was no weight yet to the words "when you get home"._

_Her tongue peeked out past her teeth as she read the list again. "Looks like we need one of us with that stop sign over there." she wiggled her eyebrows in your direction._

_"Nope, no pictures of me." you protested. "I don't need to be reminded of what I look like."_

_She gasped, in mock horror. "Girl, you're beautiful. Don't say that shit about yourself, you weirdo."_

_You let her carefully pry the camera from your hands._

_"Now get over there and pose like Vanna White for me."_

_%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%_

"(You)? (You)?" The memory fizzled away as a hand roughly shook you, accented English ringing in your ears, chasing her distinct twang out of your mind.

You finally hummed back to life, feeling dull, like a flat soda.

"What happen?" murmured Gwangjin, pressed up pretty close to you on the bench. You realized that you had to be quite far out of it to not recognize that he had been there. The ADC delicately turned your face towards him, as if he were manipulating a porcelain figurine, but you resisted.

The woman in the blue top had finished her call and turned in your direction. With a better look at her face, you realized that it wasn't _her._ Just another daytime hallucination. You reluctantly let Gwangjin move your eyes away from the stranger as you felt your entire being sink into the ground.

"You were looking for a very long time, and you weren't moving." he explained, his eyes blown wide through his spectacles, and his lip trembling just so. "I was scared, (You). What happen?"

At some point, Hojong had shown up at your other side, curiously fiddling with your fingers again. You blinked rapidly a few times, the lights were suddenly bright, bright, too brightbright _bright-_

"Oh, _fuck!_ (You)!" Søren, rushing over, nearly tripping over himself coming out of the ride exit. There he was, crouched over in front of you to meet your eyes, body thankfully blocking out some of the light, but doing nothing for all of the crowd cacophony bouncing off every surface.

"Baby, what happened?" His eyes were pleading now as he grabbed the hand Hojong wasn't holding. You couldn't look at his eyes anymore, his eyes were _hurting_ you, you started digging your knuckles into your eyes because you wanted it to _stop._

"Talk to me, please, talk to me, baby love." your boyfriend desperately whispered, pulling your hand away, trying to warm it between his own. The Mudkip doll was now itchy on your skin, you squirmed in your seat to push it away.

"Uhh, what the fuck is she doing?" asked Josh. "Is she okay?"

Søren released a stuttering sigh. "She's going into an autistic meltdown and she can't talk anymore. Something must have happened when we were on that ride." he rubbed at his own eyes. "I shouldn't have left her alone after she's been around this many people all day, she's gotta be absolutely out of battery, poor thing." You shook your head and emitted a noise somewhere between a grunt and a high-pitched whine, as if to say _no._

"What is, autistic?" inquired Gwangjin, cocking his head. Josh and Søren both opened their mouths, attempting to find the words to explain the concept to an English language learner, but Hojong started to speak to the AD carry in hushed Korean, and you could see him frown, before resting his small chin on your shoulder with a distressed mewl.

"Jesus, are we supposed to, like, call someone or something?" the jungler exclaimed, absolutely lost. 

"We gotta get her somewhere quieter, being out here is just making her more stressed out." Søren explained, his voice now warbling with worry. "Once it's started she can't really stop, I just have to find somewhere safe and wait for it to be over." You started to be able to feel the eyes of strangers on you, burning your skin. A nearby mother herded her children abruptly in the other direction. You slipped your hand away from Hojong and started to paw at your hair, hoping to pull some out for that, sweet, sweet relief.

"Oh shit, baby love, I'm sorry, so sorry." the Dane fretted, leaping halfway into your lap to wrap his arms entirely around you, shoving your face into his chest and threading the fingers of one hand through your hair. Hojong whimpered softly, worrying his lip with one of his teeth.

 _"Fuck!_ Uh... over by the food, I think there's a photo booth, I don't know..." Josh offered, stammering.

"It'll do." said Søren.

You were then lifted clear off the bench, a small bundle in Søren's arms as he hustled towards the photo booth, face still firmly hidden in his hoodie. It smelled like him and it made the situation slightly more bearable. Within seconds, you were all huddled in the tiny box, Søren squeezing you as close as humanly possible and pressing little kisses all over your face and head, cooing "dear heart", "love", and "sorry, it'll be over soon." Gwangjin and Hojong had each grabbed one of your hands to keep them out of your hair, lacing their fingers in between your own. Hojong had placed your joined hands against his cheek as he quietly chattered back and forth with the other Korean, a warm background noise, like the hot chocolate you made for Søren last week. Outside, Josh stood guard, looking as menacing as possible, even with the stuffed Mudkip dangling from his grip.

"I- I saw- I thought-" you croaked.

_Two left feet._

"What, sweetheart? What'd you see?" your boyfriend whispered. You sensed the Koreans poking their heads up nearby.

_The color of her hair._

"She- she- I couldn't-" you felt the memory crumbling to ash in your mouth, dying, like the light of the sun.

"Who, baby?"

_A smile that reached her eyes._

"I thought she was _real."_


End file.
